The Royal Flush
by Racetrack's Goil
Summary: Sequel to Ace of Hearts! Okay, so I'm more or less settled in quite well into the Brooklynite life. Spot and I...We're together now. Think I can relax? Think again. Bets, enemies, revenge, fancy dinners, grudges, spies...and all that jazz.
1. My Diary

**The Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note: **Hey, hey all! This is the sequel to "Ace of Hearts" by moi. You CAN read this one as itself if you want to, but I don't think you'll understand much…so I strongly suggest you read AOH first. I'm rather excited about this one because I have quite a bit planned out. It's going to be a bit different 'tone' than AOH because I don't have to follow along with the movie's plot.

Have half of the second chapter written already, so the update shouldn't be too long. Hopefully. This is a bit of a prologue/introduction thing, so not much happening.

**_Disclaimer:_** Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

So off we go, first chapter of The Sequel!

* * *

'_Dear Diary,'_

Hmm.

I frowned at the two words. I felt awfully dissatisfied at how they looked together. So…_uninteresting_. I squatted back in my bunk and carefully crossed out the 'Diary'. Then I bent over the paper, painstakingly re-writing the words. They turned out as:

'_Dear Diary-…Journal,'_

There you go. I smiled happily and twirled the fountain pen Artemis had given me. I think she stole it off some customer a while ago and never used it, so thus the giving.

I haven't done much writing at all for about two months and I have to admit, my penmanship is already terrible. Illegible. But then again, it always have been. Anyway, who's going to read it? No one else will, not if I can help it. It's called a 'diary/journal' for a reason. I've heard it's really useful to keep such things, but I'm not quite sure where. Maybe it was one of the mistresses back at the orphanage. Something about how letting out your emotions and seeing them in blunt print will help you sort it all out. Clears your mind (?). But I'm not doing this because I have problems or anything like that.

Oh, and it's not a big volume of a book and it isn't bound in expensive leather. I'm writing on the back of the newspapers I didn't manage to sell. I'm doing terribly at that recently and I have about a complete total of fifty papes piling up on me. The headlines, believe me, though they rarely are good, are worse than usual. There is nothing going on nowadays, so the newspapers have been duller than a spoon.

Talking about the strike, we've received different reactions from our success. Some people seem to respect us more, for going through it despite the bumpy road. Others look down on us even more; I suppose they don't like all the troubles we've caused. Either way, I'm glad it's over.

Nothing's happened at all after it finished, no problems has started, no troubles, nothing. That would be perfectly fine, but the thing was, it was two weeks after the strike and nothing even remotely interesting has happened. Every day was a repeat of the other: wake up, trudge off to the distribution center, buy papes, sell papes, go back home, and be bored. Maybe you would have liked this kind of routine life. I used to think I did. But after all the excitement from the strike and whatnot, it was getting freakishly uneventful.

On top of it all, I felt like there was something hanging over my head and I think I'm not the only one. Everyone's steadily growing tense every passing day and I try not to, but when you're with a band of street kids whose every nerve seem taunt, you start winding up yourself. It drives you crazy really.

The main reason for all this, of course, is Duke. Well, no. It's more like the _absence _of Duke. He's supposed to be in Brooklyn now, because Cat sighted him, but there's been no news whatsoever about him. I've heard all kinds of stories about him, none of them even remotely pleasant. He's done everything from stealing other people's girlfriends to trying to assassinate said people. He's supposedly a jerk of all jerks, a real, real horrid person who threatens to cut off hands with one of his knives.

I've never met him…but you know what? I'm just about _appalled _at myself for this, but…

A small, tiny part of me wants to.

Truly.

I know. It's horrible. I can't believe it myself. The closest I can to explaining myself would be that I want to see what kind of person would and _could _do such things, who'd turn right around against his best friend, and not care. Who had challenged Spot and nearly won. Most of me wants to never see him, but that small, tiny part feels intense curiosity. Though I suppose it's inevitable; the meeting, that is. Because - it really is horrid – he's out there, plotting away for revenge against my leader and boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Spot Conlon, my boyfriend.

Odd to think of him that way.

It's even odder to think that it's been two monthssince I first met him and became a Brooklynite. Then to think that I've actually stayed and stuck through. Being a newsie is the hardest thing I've ever been, but it also has been the most rewarding and well…dare I say it, _fun_. Really, it is. It's fun.

Well, it _was _fun. Now it's slowly becoming boring.

It's gone to the point that I'm actually _missing _my sudden meetings with a certain Philip Danford. Do you remember him? He's the leader of the Queens and we met by in an alley, quite by accident. Then we started bumping into each other quite a lot. He's such an interesting person, really, and _such_ a gentleman. It's nice to be treated like royalty sometimes, especially from someone like Philip, who ironically looks like some black prince or something. And I don't even know him that well. He's even more of an enigma than Spot was, before.

The last time we met, he told me that after the strike, the boroughs would start turning against each other, as a matter of course. I wonder if it was true. I wonder if that's the reason why I hadn't seen him. Maybe Queens was harboring something against us. I know that Brooklyn had had trouble with them before, though I'm not sure how or why. Maybe it was happening again.

Or maybe, I thought dryly, I was thinking too hard.

I twirled my pen and felt a frown tug at my mouth again. Shaking off my thoughts, I turned back to the back of the rather pathetic newspaper sitting limply on my lap. I licked the tip of the fountain pen and scribbled away as carefully as I could.

'_August 3rd, 1899-_

_Hello Diary-Journal person. Nothing to write. I sold papes today and the headline was about the Mayor being re-elected. Pithon guffawed in my ear when she saw it so I guffawed right back. Only saw a glimpse of Spot, but he half-smirked/smiled again_.'

He does that a lot recently. I wonder what he's up to.

I shrugged to myself and then blew on the newspaper to dry the still slightly-wet ink. Maybe he was planning to astound me or something. My birthday was coming up this coming weekend. I was turning eighteen at last, but it's not like I'm bouncing up and down for joy. I don't want to grow up, actually. I'd rather I stayed sixteen, not haven gone to seventeen and now to…eighteen. Oh well.

Pulitzer's _World_ has lost its popularity after the strike. The grim truth written by Jack and the others had been seen by everyone and Theodore Roosevelt (yeah, you heard me right) ordered it to be printed. Now, no one seems that into Pulitzer anymore. I think we'll soon have to be changing to other newspaper giants, maybe Hearst or Gammon. I guess we'll just have to see. I turned the pen back around to the paper.

'_But you haven't a clue about who I am. Shall I tell you about myself? Shall I tell you everything, even though you probably don't care? Heh. Oh well. I shall pretend you **do**_ _care.'_

I'm writing to someone who I made up in my mind. Aren't I pathetic?

'_I escaped the orphanage, got in a fight with a bully named Fire, met Spot Conlon, loathed him immediately, became a Brooklynite for some weird reason, got mixed up in a strike started by the newsies of Manhattan, Spot kept getting me out of trouble from Fire and other nasty people in general, and after a whole lot of stuff in between, it turned out that he loved me, and thus now we're **together**.'_

My summer, stated in one long, grammar-defying, run-on sentence. It probably wouldn't make any sense to anyone. But who cares. No one's gonna read it, right? Anyway, I didn't want anyone to read it. Diaries are sacred. I'm planning to write _everything _in here, all my thoughts and opinions. All of a sudden, I looked at my diary/journal and felt extremely protective. It became something personal, secretive, and very, very important. I brandished my pen again.

'_But wait. Well, duh. You're just a person I selfishly made up so I can unload everything on you. You don't even know what kind of person I am. I could be an escaped convict. A murderer on the loose. Shall I now inform you of all my darkest secrets? Well, actually, I don't have any. Any dark secrets, that is. Not yet, at least. I'm a normal girl, living more or less happily in Brooklyn as a newsie. But I feel restless. _

_Don't you ever feel like something's going to **happen **and you just know it's not going to be something too pleasant?'_

Don't you? I do. I feel like something big is going to happen and I probably am not going to like it. But…oh well. Maybe I was being paranoid.

'_I miss talking to people. No one's really talked to me recently. Not even Spot. He's gone a lot nowadays, busy with something or another. I think he's trying hard to figure out about Duke.'_

See? Back to Duke again.

'_But now I have **you **to ramble on to. I'm going to tell you everything. So yeah, you are going to find out all my darkest secrets when and if I someday make them. Happy?'_

I sound like a dumb blonde, even though I'm a brunette. Sad. Very sad.

'_And since you'll be sticking with me for a long time, I'd better write my name here. Just so you recognize me every time I make an entry._

_-Ace'_

No.

'_I swore to tell you all my deepest darkest secrets and I'm already withholding one from you. Sorry. _

_-Ashley 'Ace' Benette'

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **I know it's a bit of a dull chapter, but I need a 'breather' before plunging right into the story. Next chapter will be _much _longer and will be full of goodies so hopefully won't be as boring. Alrighty? Hehe. Okay, hope you enjoyed it and please review! 


	2. The Bet

**The Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note: **Righto, this is the second chapter. Yeah, I expected I could update quick, but I ended up disliking the flow of it all, so I went on a spur of writing and just scribbled most of the chapter.

Some Spot in this one…and by the way, what you'll read isn't as cliché as you think.

**_Disclaimer:_** Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

Alright, on with the chappie!

* * *

From the Brooklyn Bridge, you could see practically most of New York. The city loomed large and majestic beyond, its skyscrapers reaching high and contrasting sharply with the setting sky, which had vivid colors streaking it a faint purple, red, and orange. The serene water below reflected the buildings and everything above, creating a breathtakingly beautiful and picturesque effect. 

Spot Conlon leaned against the rails of the Bridge, gazing out across the view without any real comprehension or appreciation. His face was carefully expressionless, his stance casual. His golden-topped black cane was laid sideways across the rail and he rested one hand over it, thoughtfully running his thumb across the smooth, polished wood. Next to it sat his hat, worn and almost colorless from use. From a distance, he made an oddly innocent figure, strange because it defied his character. He was leaner and lither than most in Brooklyn and certainly seemed small and lonely as he stared out from the Bridge. His eyes however, were a stony, undeniable gray and one simple look proved that there was nothing harmless in them.

He lifted one hand and took the hat, idly fingering it before running a hand through his dark, blonde-streaked hair. Then he put the hat on, adjusting it automatically before staring out again, his compressed lips unsmiling as he delved deep into thought. He exhaled, slowly, and unnecessarily rubbed the back of his neck.

He was uneasy.

He hated himself for it. He, Spot Conlon, king of Brooklyn, was uneasy. He was even bordering dangerously on worried. This lull, this calm before the storm; it unnerved him. Outwardly, he knew no one had noticed. He always appeared calm and composed to the others and he had to make sure of it. It was his job, as a leader. But he had to admit it; he couldn't relax.

The strike had ended peacefully enough, despite all the trouble it had caused. Spot shifted, playing with the gold top of his cane. He no longer cared about the strike. It had finished. He didn't even care about the unsteady relationship between Manhattan and Harlems. He had predicted some boroughs would turn against each other sometime anyhow. It was Manhattan's problem, not his. He and his boys had helped them out enough.

No; it was Brooklyn itself that he was concerned about. A long time had passed since news of his archenemy being sighted here. Some of the Brooklynites, he knew, suspected Cat had made a mistake and Duke wasn't here at all. He was tempted to join them, but he knew Cat rarely, if never, erred in her job. He depended on her too much and she knew how much was at stake if she made a mistake. Duke was here, somewhere, and Spot knew he couldn't just be lazing away. He must have done something, or was doing something, already. And he was leaving it up to Spot to figure it out.

He swore softly. It was just like Duke to plan his retaliation in the form of a game. Everything had seemed like a game to him, Spot remembered. They both were like that, actually. But the difference was that Duke had never known or had ignored the point of when to stop playing. Last time, the prize had been the power of holding Brooklyn. And he had gambled with Spot's - his friend and leader – trust. It had been dirty, vicious, and treacherous. Spot knew too well that this time was going to be even worse.

Duke was playing with his patience here, Spot knew. It was either that, or Duke had expected him to have figured out his first move and was waiting for him to respond. Spot inwardly smiled grimly. Duke wasn't going to have all the control. He could wait.

He then heard footsteps walking towards him and he looked up to see Pike, his second-in-command. The other boy gave him a short nod and Spot turned his gaze back towards the stretching city beyond him, waiting for Pike to reach him. The other boy leaned back against the rail, his elbows supporting him and Spot acknowledged him with a gray glance. Pike was also short for a Brooklynite, but he was stockier and about an inch taller than he. The two were good friends, despite the difference of him being leader and Pike the lieutenant.

"Hey Spot," Pike greeted, his usually half-open, white shirt buttoned against the day's sudden breezes. He looked at Spot, who was dressed in his normal, checkered shirt with its sleeves rolled up. He didn't seem cold in the least. Pike inwardly shrugged. His leader never seemed to adjust with the seasons.

"Hey," Spot said, watching a flock of birds soar through the sky and at the same time observing Pike. He noticed that Pike's usually sleek, black hair was out of place. Probably because of the wind, Spot thought, and smirked. That must be irking him. Pike was picky about two things. One was girls. And the other was his hair to be perfect. Spot let himself feel smug. Pike still didn't know that most girls liked guys' hair to be slightly messy. An art Spot had mastered years ago.

Pike rolled one shoulder and turned around to look down over the Bridge. "What you doin'?"

Spot considered and said at length, "Thinking."

Pike paused and commented with a, "Mmm."

Spot answered his unspoken question by adding kindly, "'Bout everythin' in general."

"Cat told me to tell you," Pike said, knowing Spot didn't want to talk about the subject, "Manhattaners comin' over. Cowboy and the Mouth."

Spot frowned slightly. "Why didn't Cat come herself?"

"She says she's sorry," Pike lowered her voice, "But she's askin' dem Queens 'bout Duke."

Spot flicked him a look. Pike chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "Says some of da boys dere was talkin' 'bout a guy who sounds a little like him. But Cat thinks it ain't, but still. Says it's worth checkin' out."

"Interestin'," Spot commented flatly, feeling a faint nudge in his gut. He ignored it, knowing he could analyze this new information later. He watched Pike draw out a cigar and look in vain for a light. Wordlessly, Spot slipped out his own matches, struck it easily, and handed it to him. Pike nodded his thanks and lighted his cigar.

"You ain't smokin' so much now," Pike remarked, shaking the match to put out the light. "Ace against smokin' too?"

Unexpectedly, Spot felt a surge of humor and allowed himself to break into a rare grin. "I dunno. Better to be safe dan sorry though, eh?"

Pike threw the match away over the Bridge. "Or she'll start _provin'_ things and gettin' herself sick again?"

Spot smirked, "With one of my Havanas?"

Pike laughed. "Dat'll be a sight."

Spot merely smirked wider, on the verge of laughter. Ace had such odd peculiarities. Some were truly amusing. One of the funniest had been her severe disapproval against drinking. Spot always had to restrain his laughter at the memory. She had declared all the evils of alcohol in front of them all, trying so hard to prove him wrong. He had tricked her into taking a slug of beer herself and her expression then had been hilarious. Well, he had felt a bit bad about it when she had become instantly sick. Still, it had been funny.

"At least Milkshake likes both drinkin' and smokin'."

"Yeah. I've got a civilized girl dis time."

Pike started to laugh, and then stopped. Spot watched him trying to choose whether to take that as a compliment or an insult and then pick the latter. "Hey," Pike gave him a mock-glare, "Don't bad-mouth my girl."

Spot started enjoying the look on his face. "I ain't. Ace just happens to be…_respectable_."

"Respectable…well, in some ways she is. She ain't throwin' herself on you like da others."

Spot felt strangely, oddly proud. "Well, she ain't like dem." Then he stopped, not wanting to sound disgustingly romantic. Pike was laughing already.

"Maybe," said the slick-haired boy slyly, "She takes pity on ya."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe she really doesn't like ya and just feels sorry."

"Nah," Spot said confidently, "She ain't dat good a performer; I'd know."

"Yeah?" Pike's eyes suddenly flickered, as if an idea had come across him. Spot just watched, feeling a faint flash of humor at how easy to read his face was. Pike then looked back at him, wiggling his eyebrows. "Y'know, we ain't had much excitement recently."

Spot raised his own eyebrows expressively and crossed his arms. "Brilliant observation, Pike," he drawled sarcastically and leaned back against the rail again.

Pike rolled his eyes, but persisted, "How much dough you got?"

Spot's ears pricked up as he instantly recognized where the conversation was going to. A bet. Pike wanted a bet to spice things up. He gave him a considering look. "Enough," he replied cautiously.

Pike grinned, knowing now that Spot just as well might have agreed to go along with him. "Enough for a bet?"

It was Spot's turn to roll his eyes at the childish excitement on Pike's face. "Okay, spit it out."

Pike winked cheekily. "An easy one, actually. Jus' for fun."

Spot eyed him. "Considerin' you, it probably ain't gonna exactly hilarious."

Pike laughed, one hand reaching up unconsciously to fix some loosening strands of hair. "Alrigh'. Dis involves Ace."

Spot nodded, still cautious. "I hope you know da terms when it comes to her," he said and Pike nodded back.

"No worries dere. See, it's actually on yoah favor."

Spot waited patiently and took his cane in one hand, bringing it up to examine its condition casually.

"Jus' to see if she's really into you or not," Pike went on, grinning.

"Dyin' with curiosity here," Spot muttered, though he actually _was_ mildly interested. Pike's bets were always fun, simply because they were fairly easy to win.

Pike kept grinning. "Okay. You have to make Ace declare dat she loves ya, in front of us all," he paused and then added, "An' you can't ask her to; she has to do it on her own."

Spot didn't answer for a moment, silently marveling at Pike's simplicity. It was such an easy wager. Sure, Ace had never actually said the words right out loud, but he knew it was true from the way she acted, talked, kissed. The only part that was slightly difficult would be making her say it, but all it needed was clever maneuvering and a spot of luck. Simple.

"Sure," Spot drawled, unable to keep from smirking. "Piece of cake."

Pike smirked back. "Two dollars?"

That was high. Almost a week's worth of money. Spot straightened from the rail and slid his cane through his belt loop before looking back up at the taller boy, narrowing his eyes into an amused stare. "Only two? Scared, Pike?"

Pike's chin jutted it out and he flexed his arms. "Nah. What you proposin'?"

"Five," Spot threw out carelessly, as though remarking on the color of the sky today. It was a sure win over a stupid bet. Well, it was Pike's fault for thinking up something so idiotic. He had the satisfaction of seeing the other boy pale slightly.

"Five? Five dollars?"

"Five."

Pike considered. "Alrigh'," he said carefully at length, "But with some changes," he said, half-defiantly. "By this day next week. At Ray's."

Spot shrugged. "Your loss,' he replied smoothly, breaking into a slight grin. Pike spat in his hand and held it out. Spot did the same and the two shook hands on the wager, both of them thinking they had gotten the better end of the bargain.

* * *

I loathe newspapers. 

Seriously.

The boring blend of gray, black, and white with horrendously even, clean printed words, the dry, rustle the paper makes when folded, and the smell of fresh ink. It makes me feel like throwing the paper down and stomping on it. Every day, the same ones. The only difference was the words, but it didn't help. Sighing, I scanned it, searching for keywords of interest to the public. My eyes caught on a story about some small defect in food in a cafe and I seized it, shaping it in my mind into larger words for a bigger impact.

I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders and reached up to put my hat on. A breeze blew my hair into my face, blocking my view, and I irritably brushed it away. I tucked my hands into my pockets and started my selling. I decided to move towards the docks, slowly, and sell along the way. I would need to change my words drastically from time to time and to sell to the same crowd with different headlines wouldn't do at all. The streets were fairly uncrowded, with only a few people here and there, and I sighed. I wasn't going to do well.

I waved my newspaper around, keeping the rest of the load securely in my arms. "Food poisoning destroys the population!"

No one even _glanced _my way.

"Poisoning strikes terror in New York!"

Nothing. I was going to starve.

An old lady passed by behind me. I frantically turned around and walked up to her quickly. I waved the newspaper right under the nose of an old lady, shouting the headline again. "Terror! In New York! Food!"

She gave me a rather frightened look and said nervously, "Oh, I already had a newspaper delivered to my house, dear." She scuttled off with surprising speed, glancing back at me with an uncertain look. I stood there in wordless disappointment, not really surprised, but wishing she had taken the newspaper anyhow. Old ladies usually did, you see. I sighed and rubbed my forehead with the back of my neck, tired from a fruitless morning.

Why? Did one of the others say the same headline already? Was it too boring? I stood there, racking my brains. I pulled my hat firmly down over my head and rubbed my hands to generate some warmth.

"Oh my! Joanne, look! _Look!_"

My ears picked up giggles and my forehead creased as I turned my head to see three girls. They were huddled together on the street, whispering behind their hands and ducking their heads in laughter. They were dressed simply but expensively, the material evidently rich and precious. Their hair was perfected with silk ribbons and I noticed that their small hands were milky white and smooth from never having handled anything lighter than a spoon before. I unconsciously thought about my ragged trousers, its darkened ends rolled up because of their length, and my once-white shirt, pale yellow now, and my stained cloak wrapped messily around myself. I fought off jealousy and embarrassment as I noticed that their eyes were upon me as they conversed. My face slowly flushed as I caught tidbits of what they were saying.

"Is that a girl?"

"Her hair looks _dead_. Ratty."

"Those clothes…!"

"Hush, she's looking at us."

The last whisper was quieter than the rest, spoken by a short blonde with a rosy, healthy complexion. I glared at all three of them, not at all appreciating their comments. The blonde and the brunette looked away, obviously trying not to laugh, but one tall girl just stared back at me, her full lips curving into a pitying smile. My first instinct was to go right up to her and whack that leer off her face, but I was self-disciplined (hah!) and stalked down the street the other way. Barely controlled laughter reached my ears and my shoulders hunched defensively, my back feeling their unfriendly eyes upon my back. Irritated, I forced myself not to turn right back around. I knew Spot hated fights being started on his turf, especially if they were ones of no consequence.

I turned a corner, trying as fast as I could to get as far away from them as I could before I really did lose it. Knowing I was now out of the girls' line of sight, I breathed out, trying to shake my thoughts away. Even at the orphanage, I never knew how to deal with truly mean _girls_. Boys I could handle, for some reason; consider Fire. But girls? I'm not sure why. I always had ended up resorting to violence, which merely meant triumph for the bullies in the long run. I'd wind up getting into huge trouble from the mistresses, which was always just as bad.

But honestly, mean girls always _scared _me. They were creative in their cruelty, and they _gang _up on you. I was only glad that there was nothing that bad here among the Brooklynites. I folded my arms, huddling over as I walked away. I felt awfully dismal, though I hated myself for being affected by those anonymous girls. I sighed and then felt my ever-empty stomach rumble complainingly.

I was hungry.

Heh.

I've been hungry since _forever_.

Then I promptly hated myself all over again for sounding so dramatic and self-pitying. I knew I wasn't living a perfect life, being way down there in the social ladder. But what did complaining about it do at all? Really, just how much did social class matter, I mean, _truly_? We have as much power as the ones up there; the strike proved that. At least, in certain ways. Someday, I told myself. At least once, before I die. I'll wear nice clothes, like the ones those girls were wearing, I'll eat gorgeous food, and I won't be hungry. For one day. Then I grinned, feeling foolishly much better.

Now, to deal with the hunger I had now, I decided to snatch something off a vender. I wanted something to munch along my selling route to the docks. Maybe an apple. I glanced around, shifting my newspapers into a more comfortable position under my arm. I spotted a vender nearby. The man who was selling wore a dirty apron, was of average build and height, with a brilliant smile that looked awfully painful. I wondered whether I looked like that when I tried to look cheerful when selling. Maybe that's why I'm not doing well.

I eyed him, noting how he seemed aware of his customers. I wasn't good at stealing, never was, and the only times I could manage was if the 'victim' was dull and slow. I didn't think I could pull this one off. I was just about to turn away and get back to my selling when a voice stopped me.

"Hey! Ace!"

I whirled around rather guiltily, thinking that maybe someone had somehow read my thoughts or had figured out what I was about to do. I quickly swept my gaze over the street and then I settled on two boys, one of them waving at me noticeably. I instantly recognized him with some surprise and felt myself prickle with a faint sense of curiosity. I waved back. "Jack!"

The two of them ran up to me and during that short time, I saw that the other boy was David. I grinned, wondering whether Spot knew he was there. He just about hated David. I'm not sure why, but I always found it funny in a twisted way. Spot with his little nitpicks and pet peeves. David was one of them.

"Hi," I greeted, taking Jack's offered handshake, "What're you doing here?"

Jack was wearing his usual trademarks: a red bandana and a jet-black, felt cowboy hat. He managed to look dashing instead of ridiculous, which was quite a feat in itself. Honestly, most teenage boys don't go around walking around New York wearing clothes like a wanna-be cowboy. I had to tip my head back to see him, because he was so immensely tall. He was grinning his wonderfully disarming grin. "We've got news. Where's Spot?"

I shrugged. "I'm just 'bout to got to the docks and I'm thinking he's there. Wanna come along?"

"Sure thing."

I stole a look at David, who had not spoken yet. He had an average build and height, so he was only about half a head taller than me. He had the curly, brown hair I had noticed the first time I had seen him from far off that day at the docks. He also had, I realized, very, very blue eyes, which were now analyzing me from top to bottom. I caught his gaze purposefully and he stared at me for a second before his eyes sort of cleared in realization.

"Hey, I remember you," he exclaimed, gesturing with one hand. Jack looked from me to David.

"You two met?"

Then I remembered too. "Oh."

"At the rally-"

"Yeah, you screamed at me to help."

David looked startled and then cocked his head. "No, I didn't."

"You sure did," I teased.

"No," he frowned and said stubbornly, "I did not."

Gah.

"I was just kiddin'," I tried to make him laugh by laughing myself, but his eyebrows were still furrowed in confusion. Jack also looked confused and I trailed off, wishing I hadn't said what I had. Apparently David did not share my kind of humor.

"Tell me what happened…?" Jack asked, slightly sarcastic. David gave me another look and then explained.

"I asked her to help me find you at the rally. There was so much confusion and you disappeared. We had to get you out of there then."

"Yeah," I commented flatly.

I'm afraid I went off and gave David a scornful glance right then and there. David caught it and looked startled all over again. Like a frightened bean. A frightened big rabbit jelly bean.

I can see why Spot didn't like him. He was already exasperating and ever so extremely dull. Why'd he come anyhow? How come Race couldn't have come? He was much more interesting. Skittery even, because I somehow liked his sullen, bad-temperedness. I didn't understand why Jack seemed to have taken a liking to David. Maybe unlike Spot, he thought it would be better to have a various, broad range of friends, including goody-goodies like David.

"I…think I get it," Jack said, but he was laughing. "C'mon, let's get goin'."

We walked with Jack between the two of us. I was glad of it and I have to admit I completely ignored David. He occasionally gave comments here and there, but he seemed uncomfortable around Brooklyn. Or maybe a Brooklynite. Okay, maybe he was just uncomfortable around me. I glanced at him at one point and he looked away immediately. I don't think he liked me. Heh. The little joke must have thrown him off.

"So, how's Manhattan?"

"Good. Race actually won a bet on one of dem racing horses."

"Yeah?"

"Pretty happy 'bout it, he is. You guys?"

I opened my mouth to say, "Good," right back, but then re-considered. Jack, being the perceptive leader he was, noticed my hesitation. "Not goin' dat great?"

"Ahm…not exactly."

"Somethin' happen?"

"No, that's just it. Absolutely _nothing_ is happening."

"Hah, I know what you mean. We get it sometimes too."

David nodded seriously. "People get restless. Don't worry, you'll get over it."

Like _he _knew anything about it. I just smiled sweetly at him and again, he looked away uncomfortably. Hahahahahaha.

"Okay, Jack," I declared, switching my gaze to him. "I'm desperately awaiting your news. Good ones, you said?"

He pressed his lips together into a surprisingly good smirk. "Nah. I think you need to wait." He proceeded then to clam up and refuse to say anything. I poked him in the arm.

"C'mon, what happened?"

"Just wait."

"Please?" I whined unabashedly.

"You do know Brooklynite ain't allowed to act like dis?"

"Who cares. C'mon, I'm dyin' for something new here."

"Wait for Spot."

I sighed and decided to let it go. Fine, I thought. The sooner we find him then, the better. I gave Jack another mock-glare and then smiled to show I was joking. Then I was just about to change the subject when David gave me a smile. "Ace, Spot needs to hear first," he said, ever so belatedly.

I stared at him. He used my name in such a way that was ever so…disgusting. It sounded horrid coming from him, so foolish and extremely childish. He also sounded very serious, like he was reprimanding me for a grave, grave reason. It annoyed me instantly. Sure, maybe he was right, but I did _not_ like the manner he told me. He had rotten timing too; just when I was about to drop it. Now I felt re-irritated. I gave him a dark glower. "Is that so?"

"Yes," A trace of puzzlement at my tone.

"Spot trusts me, you know. I trust him too."

David eyed me. He _eyed _me. "I know about you and Spot."

"And?"

"It's just that Spot is leader, you see, and you're not."

I spluttered wordlessly.

(Jack was laughing. He probably never saw David get into an argument. Heh.)

"I'm simply telling you the facts," David informed me kindly.

"You…you're just so full of it, aren't you?"

"What!"

"Brooklynites aren't stupid, stop pretending we are."

"WHAT?" He gestured nervously again with his hand. "I never said that! Why do you Brooklynites always twist my words around all the time?"

I stilled. "Are you," I said in my best, threatening, Spot-like voice, "trying to say something?"

David came to the nearest I saw to a glower. Before he could speak, Jack cut him off. He was no longer chuckling in that surprised way, but laughing inwardly, "Look you two, I'm just gonna go ahead an' find Spot, 'right? _Try _to settle dis."

Horrified, I tried to protest, but David did that for me. "Don't!"

Jack grinned and slung a friendly arm across his shoulders. "Hey, think of dis as a chance to improve your social skills," he added in a stage whisper, "Brooklyn's probably da toughest."

Hey. Was that an insult?

Jack then patted him once and then with a wink at me, walked off in the direction of the docks. My mouth, trained from quite a lot of exercise, fell open upon reflex. He left us. Just like that. That is horrid, horrid. Jack was _evil_.

Because _now_ I have to deal with David, who, by the way, I am still miffed at. I turned to him, crossing my arms. He looked very agitated and his hands kept twitching. I could almost see his brains at work, trying to find a way to smooth things over. I suppose I ought to do that too. Besides…I didn't like the way Jack had made me seem like a…a…_challenge_. I wasn't that unsocial and I wanted to prove him wrong. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he spoke before I did.

"There are just some things some people can know and some things others can," he gave me an exasperated look, "That's all."

…

Why won't he just shut up?

Naturally, I lost my temper again. If he thought he was sounding wise, he was wrong. Very, very wrong. No wonder Spot calls him a walking mouth. He just spouts all kinds of junk. In fact, he sounded idiotic because he was _trying _to sound wise. I told him so. He told me I was being immature. I told him he could go stick his head up a pipe and stay there. He told me to calm down and see reason.

To calm down!

I wanted him to be annoyed; I wanted to see how far he could stretch that thinning control he had over himself. See, he didn't have the same kind of control and composure Spot or Philip had. They kept their self-control without showing that they _were _in their faces. David on the other hand, lacked the composure. He looked like he was going to burst with displeasure. And the most awful thing is, I was starting to have fun. Really. It's been a long time since I had a good, sharp tiff with anyone. David was boring, yeah, but it's stress relieving. But I truly was irritated with him. He grated on my nerves.

"Why'd _you_ have to come anyhow?"

"Wha-what is it about me that you just seem to hate all of a sudden?"

He stuttered with startled anger. Hah!

"Because you're a stuck-up git," I informed him eloquently.

"You're overreacting."

"I am not!" (I think I am.)

I glared at David and he stared widely back, doing that whole rabbit impression again.

My lips were just about peeling back into a sneer and I was beginning to wonder what kind of expression he would have if I told him he looked like a jelly-bean when I felt an arm wrap around my waist from behind. I squawked in surprise and jumped back to bump against someone.

"Woah, jittery, Ace," said a voice, a smirk evident in its tone, and the arm loosened. "Relax."

I looked up and my tension deflated as I felt a wonderful thrill chase itself down my spine when I met familiar, intense grayish-blue eyes. As usual, my breath caught audibly in my throat. Something gave way inside of me and I was embarrassed to find I felt awfully, marvelously weak all over. Does Spot always have this effect on me? Yes, he did. Pathetic, I know.

He looked different and I was trying to figure out why. His hair was wet and his skin felt damp, even through my shirt, so I gathered he _had _been at the docks. But that wasn't it. Then I finally noticed that his hat was on backwards, making him look incredibly roguish and…well, _cute_. He caught my appreciative glance and he smirked. I grinned back. "Hi."

"Hey," he said and kissed me lightly. "What's new?"

"Somethin' is, but they won't tell me."

"Who?"

"Jack and David."

He looked over at David. His eyes turned cool and collected quickly, almost like he had automatically switched to another personality. He used to do that to me a lot and it annoyed me immensely. I used to think he was mocking me and thus thought him seem like an arrogant prig. Well, he _is _arrogant. But he's not a prig. Not at all. He doesn't even come close.

"Where's Jack?"

I shrugged. "Don't ask me. Went to find you; didn't you see him?"

"I didn't."

Then he looked back again at David, who paled slightly. "Hi Spot," he greeted quickly and, to my surprise, glanced at me. What did he think I was going to do? Spot looked him over and nodded before rubbing the back of his neck casually.

"So what you doin' here," he deadpanned, not ending with a question mark.

"Um, we have news from Manhattan."

"And."

Spot does that pretty well, the deadpanning. It unnerves people. David was definitely unnerved. "Jack…I think he-"

"Why don't you just tell us?" Spot said, smiling a smile that was _not _friendly in the least.

David rubbed one arm, looking somewhat sheepish. I cocked my head at him, waiting for the News that both Jack and David had been making such a big deal about. Something to do with the other boroughs, perhaps? But they had said it was good. Maybe…well, the price of the papes, you see, had merely returned to its normal state. Maybe…maybe it had lowered? That would be spectacularly good. Spot coughed slightly, making David's eyes to flicker over at him, as though gauging his reactions.

"Well…?" Spot drawled, effectively lengthening the word into a slow, careful tone that hinted at what would happen if David continued the suspense. But Spot didn't seem very much in suspense. In fact, he looked bored.

Then David blurted out, quite suddenly, "Someone's invited us for a dinner!"

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm sure you can all imagine Ace's expression and reaction to something like that…But yeah, explanations later. David is rather pathetic in this chapter, but you have to understand that it's all from Ace's POV and through her eyes, he's truly idiotic. If I wrote this in third person, David would seem to have acted better and Ace more…well, childish. Yes, she has faults. 

Oh, and if you caught that parallel about her trying to stretch David's patience with that part in the previous story where Spot was doing the same thing to Jack on the Bridge, it's supposed to be like that. To show how Ace is becoming more and more into Brooklynite, and you know Brooklynites aren't really the most pleasant newsies in New York.

Again, this one's fairly non-active, but it'll pick up pace, don't worry.

Thanks for all the reviews, hope you enjoyed this one!


	3. Lost

**The Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note: **Well, this chappie picks up pace later on. It's an okay chapter, I guess. Alright, I'm not too fond of this one. Please tell me what you think though. Going through a bit of a hard time right now with school and such, so I might not be able to update soon.

**_Disclaimer:_** Anything you recognize is not mine.

* * *

A _dinner_? An invitation to a _dinner_?

"Oh," I blurted out thoughtlessly.

David, to my surprise, gave me a full-on glare. "Yeah. But you don't understand."

Spot raised his eyebrows slightly and I thought for a second I caught a flicker of interest in those gray-blue eyes. "Alrigh'. So enlighten us."

David promptly answered, "A dowager invited us."

"A…what?" I asked and then winced. I must have sounded incredibly stupid. But Spot remained silent, so I think he didn't understand either. It must irk him as much as it irked me. Well, David was rather educated. He wasn't quite the typical newsie.

"A rich widow," David told me, carefully, so that not a hint of smugness showed in his tone. "Her name's Caroline White."

"Sounds posh," Spot remarked and narrowed his eyes, "Why did she invite us?"

David did bit his lip in the effort of remembering. "She said something along the lines of, 'I greatly long to meet you and your friends. Maybe you and the other leaders can come over and we can talk at my house?'"

"Nice memory," I said despite myself and he gave me a look I couldn't comprehend.

"Hmm," was all Spot said.

"Yeah. She wants the 'key figures' to come, so I suppose I'm to go too."

"So what you're sayin' is…"

"A rich Lady's invited us for a rich dinner," he said lamely and shrugged, giving me another look. "Jack wanted to keep it down," he said in form of an explanation, "He wanted to hear what you had to say about it first."

There was a tense silence.

"Spot!"

We all turned at the same time and saw Jack. He came jogging up and almost immediately, David started breathing again. Spot also seemed to relax. I just marveled at Jack's good timing. He looked slightly winded, as though he had been running the whole while. He reached us with a smile, and Spot looked abruptly very boyish when he returned it with a near grin.

"Long time no see, Jackie-boy," he drawled. Jack also grinned.

They were good friends, I knew. Despite the vast rift that had come between them during one particular time during the strike, they had forged it with some difficulty. I have to admit, I felt quite proud, because I had taken some part in that little forging. The two of them were back in good terms with each other and I was sure most of the newsies under their charge had given one big sigh of relief. I watched them spitshake and David gave me an uncomfortable glance. I tried to ignore him.

"So you've heard?" Jack asked to both Spot and me, gesturing to David in a manner of explanation.

"Yeah," Spot replied and sent David a sort of a curious look, "A dinner."

Jack nodded and smiled at me. "Interestin', ain't it?"

"Yeah," I then added, "When? I mean, when is the dinner?"

"Well, White is an old lady," he answered, which really wasn't an answer.

I frowned in confusion and Spot narrowed his eyes. "Meaning she can't make a decision?" he said acerbically, sarcasm lacing his tone. To my surprise, Jack nodded once again.

"Dat's not too far from da truth," he said and Spot cocked his head. For some reason, I glanced at David, who so far had been quiet. It was his turn to ignore me and somewhat sheepishly, I turned back to Jack. "She wanted me to choose da date," he was saying, "How 'bout Saturday?"

"Saturday night?" Spot shrugged, "Sure."

Saturday was five days from now. "Oh, can't it be any sooner?" I asked, a bit childishly. Five days seemed a long time and five more days of nothing happening made me feel awfully desperate. "Nothing's going on, is it?"

Jack bit his lip, "Well…dat's another bit we ain't told you yet."

Spot looked slightly impatient. "Den spit it all out, won't you?"

The taller boy shifted and tugged down his cowboy hat. "It's a big deal. Dis party/dinner/talk thing. White's one of da most popular hostesses now. She lives with her granddaughter an'-"

"Woah, woah, slow down," Spot cut him off, shaking his head. "How did you meet dis White anyhow? Rich old ladies don't exactly walk around da streets."

Jack smirked slightly. "No. I met her granddaughter."

Spot just stared. Then he slowly raised his eyebrows and his lips, with a rather cruel twist, curved upwards. He turned to David. "Well, David. Ain't you gonna defend your sister's honor?"

There was a bit of a silence and then Jack burst out laughing at David's indignant look. "Nah. Da granddaughter's a spoiled brat. _She_ just liked _me_ and…well, we talked…and-"

I gave Jack a mock-glare, "Okay, I think we understand," then I sighed in sympathy for Sarah, "Don't need to hear any more of your disloyalty, thank you very much."

This time both Spot and Jack laughed, which rather caught me by surprise (the Spot part) because it really wasn't much of a joke. David seemed irritated again. "Look, can we get to the point?"

Spot cocked his head. Jack just half-grinned and patted David on the back. "Sure. Well, like I said, old White plans on inviting some of her friends over too. An'…well, it's a big deal. Dances and stuff," he saw the look on my face and smiled, "No. Not a ball. But a fancy, high society dinner. It's what da old lady's used to. An' I think she's forgotten dat we ain't exactly 'well-mannered.'"

It took a while for me to get what he was implying. "You mean-"

"Medda says she'll help."

I was horrified. "Help…with…" I trailed off weakly, helplessly looking at Jack.

"Manners," Spot finished for me, his frown deepening, "How to eat properly without offendin' dem hoity-toity ladies. And dancin', if dey have music," Spot looked incredibly disgusted. "What a load of-"

Hastily, Jack said, "Like I said, Medda's gonna help out. David and Sarah know a bit of it. And I'm sure Ace, you've grown up in an orphanage, right?"

They all looked at me. I blushed. "Well, not exactly _grown up_…I spent a few years there, yeah." I glanced at Jack. "And yes. They did _try _to teach me a few things about manners and whatnot."

Spot's disgusted expression faded and he looked at me with a crooked twist to his lips, "You? Polite?"

"Hey!" I slapped him on the arm, but I was grinning. "At least I'm not an uncivilized brute like Certain People!"

I thought I heard David mutter, "I wonder…" but I wasn't sure. So I ignored him again. Spot caught my hand and kissed it softly, and I blushed once again despite myself. "Ouch. You've pained me."

Jack adopted a look of pained dignity. "How could you. I? An uncivilized _brute_?" Then he became a mite serious. "Well, to _keep_ da old lady and her friends from believin' dat," he wiggled his eyebrows, "We need to learn some stuff before Saturday."

Spot exhaled sharply, shaking his head again. "Why?" he asked stonily. "Why do have to _care _about what dey think of us?"

David spoke up, "Because Caroline White is popular _and _influential. If she takes a dislike to us…" He shrugged. "Not a good thing."

Jack nodded. "Gotta be done. But on da other hand, if she thinks us worth paying some attention to…well, if Joe tries to pull somethin' on us, she'd come in handy."

I scowled. "When do these lessons start?"

Spot sneered. "_'Lessons.'_ What a joke."

"Medda says come tomorrow after we finish sellin'. Promised she'd go easy."

For a second, there was an uncomfortable, awkward silence among the four of us. Spot seemed rebellious and Jack and David were anxious to hear his assent. I could see now that it wasn't going to just be a 'la-di-dah' dinner with some rich folks. We were going to go and, well, represent the newsies to the high society. The thought of it made me feel all queasy inside. Us. Me. A _representative_. Ergh.

I casually shot a glance at Spot. He caught it and for a second a tiny flicker of humor entered his serious eyes. Then he turned to the Manhattaners and nodded. "We'll see ya den."

Jack's face split into a sharp grin. "Thanks, Spot. Thanks."

Then the two Manhattaners were very soon gone. I decided I had better say something to David the next time I meet him. I never could stay angry at someone for a long time. David was just too helpless a guy to keep being mad at. Then I considered. Hmm. Well, he did seem helpless, but maybe he really wasn't. Usually the seemingly harmless people were the ones who had the strongest character during a crisis. I remembered that time when Jack had seemingly turned traitor and how David had admirably held up. Randomly, I figured that he would probably help Medda tomorrow. He knew more about manners than I did.

Eurgh…I just couldn't believe it. When I heard the word 'dinner' I just thought that it'd be great, getting to eat nice food for a change. Now, I wasn't so sure. I probably wouldn't be able to enjoy the food properly when I had to worry about how I was acting. To have them uppity folks watching and judging you on how you talk, how you hold your stupid fork…

At that moment, I looked up at Spot, just in time to catch the end of one of those assessing glances. He then smiled instead of smirked. "Are you desolated?"

He was using one of my favorite words. "Yes. _Can _you imagine?"

He shrugged easily and his arm around me moved up to play with my hair. "Well," he said smoothly, "You're sure to do well. Probably catch on quick and then you'll have to teach me."

For a moment, I was speechless. What? I had expected him to shoot back a teasing remark or say something about David, both of which I would have gladly returned. He was being extraordinarily nice, flattering me like that. My face broke into a grin and I felt childishly pleased despite myself at Spot's compliment. "Thanks."

He bowed extravagantly. "Well, where to, princess? Ray's for a spot of lunch? I am yours to command."

I played along, laughing because he simply looked ridiculous, bowing like that. Either he was in a good mood, or he was up to something. I really didn't care. "Sure, Ray's then. I'm hungry."

"You always are," he said, his old Spot-like manner returning.

We reached Ray's in about five minutes and the room was crowded as usual. I saw most of the Brooklynites there, with the exception of Cat. We sat down in the nearest table, where Milkshake and Pike were eating. I caught Pike and Spot exchanging glances, which confused me, but I decided to ignore it. "Hey," Milkshake greeted and gestured to the food. "New cook. Better taste."

I grinned. "Awesome."

Pike and Spot looked at me. At the same time.

Er.

They did that about two more times while we were eating. Milkshake, oblivious to Pike and Spot's sudden weird behavior, chattered on about what she did today, about a funny customer who had asked her what day, month, and _year_ it was, how she absolutely _loved _the food now, and how she _must _speak to the new chef and give him her compliments. I listened with half an ear and shot a glance at Spot.

Now Spot had different smiles, all reserved for different occasions. This time he gave me a captivating, alluring smile which would have immediately turned any girl's hearts into mushy goo. And mushy goo I promptly became.

"So what'd _you_ do today?" Milkshake finally asked, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied air around her.

I blinked, snapping out of mushy goo state. "Me?'

Spot cut in. "We received an invitation to a dinner."

Immediately, Pike and Milkshake perked up. "Yeah?" Pike prodded, looking extremely interested.

"Mmhm," was all Spot would give him.

Milkshake asked me, "Who invited you?"

I thought for a minute and, to my dismay, realized I actually forgot the old lady's name. "Something…White. Erm, I forgot. No good with names."

"Caroline White," Spot provided and started explaining. While he talked, all of a sudden, I felt nervous.

In my mind's eye, I saw a tall, elegant old lady, with a stately, regal bearing. She had arched eyebrows, an aristocratic nose, and thin lips. She had gray hair, arranged beautifully upon her head, and a frosty smile. "Your name, young lady?" she would ask sternly, waving an elegant hand loaded with rings and rings and rings.

I would stammer and stumble and would finally squeak, "Ashley Benette," for surely I couldn't say Ace.

"Ash-lee Ben-et?" she would repeat and the faceless little ladies behind her would titter. She would then say, "My, what a funny name."

I would drop my fork and it'll echo loudly in the huge room. Silence…then, all of a sudden, she would snap out of character and scream at me, "How dare you! How _dare _you drop my silver fork!"

Tittering little ladies would make disapproving noises. Caroline White would then say, "Now leave! Leave this very instant! Get out of here and never come back!"

Ace, disgraced and ashamed, would scuttle out of the room in tears.

"Hey, Ace. Earth to Ace. Earth to Ace."

I blinked again and saw Spot, Pike, and Milkshake looking at me. "What's up with you?" Milkshake asked curiously. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

I mumbled, "I'm fine. Just fine." Then I looked at Spot, "Caroline White is going to be horrid. She's going to be terrible. I_ know_."

Spot's eyes shot up in amusement. "Oh really?"

"Yes," I shuddered. "She's awful."

"How can you _know_, Ace," Milkshake said reprovingly, "She might be a kind, nice lady."

Pike scowled. "At least you get to go. We'll be stuck here, being bored."

Spot smirked. I just shook my head. "I need a walk. Clear my thoughts and all that."

He played with his cane. "Well, you better clear dem before Saturday. Put on a good show for Brooklyn."

"I know…"

Spot flicked a look at me and smiled again. "Brace up. Won't be too bad. We have five more days."

I smiled back and waved goodbye at the rest. "See ya later."

Out I went, gratefully taking in a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. Ray's never failed to be stuffy, even if the food had improved. I paused to pick a direction and, just for fun, decided to walk through the back alleys. So far I hadn't had the chance to explore them. They were dangerous to travel through alone, but usually only at night. It was broad daylight now. Anyway, it's always good to know how to use the alleys. You never know when you have to use them.

Telling myself not to wander too far as to get lost, I slipped into an alley. Taking a right, I strode through the narrow street, rather enjoying myself. I always loved exploring. I could go wherever I wanted and usually find the most interesting things. I headed deeper and deeper into Brooklyn, avoiding the streets that seemed suspicious. Yes. They just looked suspicious. Trashy-looking people, bars, whatnot.

The streets seemed to grow darker and dirtier, as I had expected. Nasty-looking guys gave me threatening looks and even nastier-looking girls sneered at me. I ignored them and delved in further, marking the streets in my mind for future reference. I brushed back my hair and looked around. It was becoming more and more like a maze now, which I didn't really mind. Like all mazes, I knew that if I continued to pick the same direction every time, I would eventually end up _somewhere_. So I always picked the left side whenever the streets branched out.

Quite suddenly, I found myself in the middle of a clear, broad street. I felt as though I had stepped out of a jungle to find myself in civilization again. I took a deep breath and walked down the street, looking around. It wasn't a very clean street, but it was a large one. Lots of buildings lined them and a couple of people passed by me. I kept walking, wondering where I was.

It was only when the street broadened into a large marketplace when I caught my breath sharply, feeling stab of worry. I watched the people passing to and fro, unconsciously tugging at my cloak. Somehow this place seemed strangely familiar. A memory tugged at my mind and I frowned in the effort of trying to remember. Nothing came to me as I continued walking, growing more and more uneasy.

At length, I realized this wasn't Brooklyn. The atmosphere was too light, the people too…I dunno, too slow. They reminded me of sheep. Weird, huh? But it was true. In Brooklyn everyone's alert and on their toes. Here they all seemed dull and bored, like they were just going through another day of their pathetic lives. And again, I noticed that the streets were large, much larger than they are in Brooklyn.

Had I actually managed to wander into another borough? If so, where?

Either way, I wasn't sticking around to find out. I knew what happened to newsies who went into other newsies' boroughs without permission. Spot hated other newsies wandering into Brooklyn.

I hastily whirled around and quickly began walking back. I felt edgy, as though I had bordered someone's privacy. I knew it didn't make sense, really, that New York was New York and boroughs shouldn't really make borders like this. But still, I tensed up as I looked for that alley I came out.

Then, naturally, I realized I couldn't find it.

Okay. Calm down. Take deep breaths. Once. Twice. Thrice.

I looked around again, carefully this time.

I was _lost_! I swore aloud, disgusted with myself. Why, oh why hadn't I just returned instead of looking around this strange new borough? Why hadn't I just turned right around and headed for Brooklyn again? I had thought I was pretty streetwise and street-smart. Well, here I was, standing in the middle of an unfamiliar street without a single sense of direction. Then panic came, swift and strong, and I started half-running, looking desperately for a way back.

Then, my neck prickled with a sudden warning. I glanced over my shoulder, feeling as though someone was watching me. No one was there, at least, no one visible. Shaking off my worries, I started retracing my steps as fast as I could. Surely I would come across that alley. It had to be on my right…somewhere…because I had turned left back then…

All of a sudden, I _knew _someone was watching me. Someone was there, in the wide, cobbled street. I spun around and narrowed my eyes. I couldn't see anyone. "Weird," I muttered and turned back around again…

…only to crash into something very solid.

With a sharp cry, I stumbled backwards and fell down into a clumsy heap on the ground. I peered up into a pair of very suspicious, light-green eyes. Next to the guy stood a taller boy, a thin, lanky sort.

"Who are you," barked the guy I had crashed into. He stood over me with a growing frown on his face, making no move to help me up. He was a little on the short side, but very stocky and he looked rather formidable. I rubbed my nose and glowered at him, rather embarassed.

"Were you spying on me?" I asked, climbing painfully up to my feet.

"Smart girlie," smirked the thin boy sarcastically, even though he had to be not much older than I was.

"Look, I'm lost," I said, hoping against hope that they would help me. But somehow, I already knew someone who'd call me 'girlie' wouldn't have the brains to understand the word 'help.'

"Answer da question," snarled the stocky guy, grabbing my arm and shaking me.

I did not like being shaken.

"My name is Ace," I snapped, uselessly trying to pull away, "Now let me go."

"You're trespassin'," he informed me angrily. "Now where you from? Which borough?"

"Brooklyn," I said and tried to twist away. He looked angrier than ever and his grip on my arm tightened.

"_You_?" he sneered.

I slammed my foot hard upon his. It was like stepping on a rock. He swore and hastily moved his feet to a safer position.

"Why don't you Brooklynites evah leave us alone?" said the thin guy, shaking a finger in my face. I wanted to bite it clean off.

The stocky guy growled, "Spot Conlon thinks he's so mighty he can let his newsies walk 'round all of New York at ease, huh? Well, dat ain't da truth and it's time he knows it."

This surprised me. I thought that maybe by knowing I was a Brooklynite, he would let me go. The Delanceys had. "But I was just about to leave!"

"Oh, sure. C'mon," the guy efficiently spun me around and my arm twisted up behind my back, making my breath woosh out ridiculously. "You're comin' with us."

I ground my heel into the dirt, ignoring the pain in my arm. "No, I'm not. I'm leavin' for Brooklyn."

He chuckled, a nasty sound. "Well, you ain't in da position to argue, are ya? Now get on. Get movin'."

I gritted my teeth and lashed out with my feet again. "No," I said, though I knew it was useless. "No, no, no."

He glared at me. "Start walkin'."

Between the two of them, they managed to lift me right off my feet and half-drag me. It was quite a bit of a fight, I should say. I'm sure I gave them plenty of bruises, and since they were newsies (obviously), they wouldn't dare hit me because I was a girl. I took full advantage of this and kicked their legs and jabbed with my elbow, scratching, swearing, and shouting at them.

Deep down, I knew I was in serious, serious trouble. These newsies obviously loathed Brooklyn. They might use my intruding as a means to pick a fight. Spot would not be happy. I had to find a way out of this. I'm sure these two were going to take me to their leader, the leader of this borough. Perhaps I could convince him I meant no harm. Maybe he'd listen.

"Where am I, anyhow?" I asked during a 'lull', in which all three of us were worn out. "This ever so sacred place where visitors such as meager old me can't set foot upon without being ambushed?"

They refused to answer me, thinking I was acting stupid on purpose. They also didn't appreciate my sarcasm. "As if you didn't know!" scoffed Stocky Guy.

"I don't!"

"Sure." Then he and Skinny Guy began insulting Brooklyn and Brooklynites, so I took it upon myself to tell them they were uncultured, ignorant buffoons. Skinny Guy told me shut my trap. I told him he could go shut his oral cavity as well. He very nearly exploded at that, but restrained himself admirably.

Before long, they forced me to enter a building which I realized was another LH. By this time, I was so tired that I was more or less complying. I glanced around, noting how it was slightly cleaner than ours. There were quite a lot of boys inside and they all peered at me. I saw no girls and realized that this was one of those places that didn't allow girls as newsies.

"Hey, Pebs, who's da girl?"

Pebs?

Stocky Guy muttered, "Brooklyn."

Immediately, the atmosphere turned frosty and once again, I wondered which one of the boroughs this was. I thought Brooklyn was respected, not hated. What borough disliked Brooklyn so much? I inwardly flinched as everyone glared at me with openly displayed hatred. Skinny Guy pushed me on, so I kept walking, trying to ignore the taunts and jeers and feeling like some weird martyr. This was just unreal. How had I ended up into this mess?

Oh yeah. I had wanted to _explore_.

All of a sudden, Skinny pushed me into a room. Caught off guard, I lost my balance and tripped over an unseen object. I went sprawling and skidding face first and I banged my chin sharply on the wooden floor, biting my tongue in the process. I was aware of Skinny and Stocky (Pebs?) talking to someone and that someone making some sort of remark, but I was too much in pain to really care. I ran a tongue over my teeth and spat out blood, wincing.

I hazily noticed that same someone's feet move nearer to my face and that he had a pair of fairly clean boots. Seeing how the situation had been turning out so far, I half-expected that person to kick my face in out of pure spite. I managed to move back and struggled up to my feet, hating the idea of being on my knees to some stupid leader. I straightened, wiping my mouth and shooting my nastiest look at Skinny. Then I turned back to look at the person with the nice boots.

My eyes widened, my jaw dropped, and I stared in surprise.

"Well, well," Philip said, smiling, "Haven't seen you around for some time, Ace."

* * *

**Author's Note: **And that is The End of this chapter. :D So did you catch everything? If you didn't understand, go ahead and ask me. The next chapter's gonna be quite fun to write. Thanks to those who reviewed, though somehow there was quite a lack of reviews for the second chappie. Oh well. hint hint

Btw, I have a random question. When you read about Philip, whose face do you 'see'? I mean, what kind of a person do you think he looks like? Go ahead and name an actor or some sort of celebrity. Or is it just me who 'sees' faces when I read about characters? Hmm. Well, will be awaiting your opinions. :D

Hope you enjoyed this chappie; do review!


	4. Enter Philip Danford

**The Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note: **Well, I updated sooner than I expected. I had such fun writing this chapter and Philip is swiftly becoming one of my favorite characters to use. Thanks to all who responded to my questions before. For me, I see Kevin Zegers, David Beckham (?), Orlando Bloom (??), and a whole bunch of people. I don't think I can ever pick on one so I'll probably not put up his picture or anything like that. Leave it up to your imaginations and whatnot.

**_Disclaimer:_** Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

Enjoy!

* * *

For a second, I could do nothing but stand and stare, stare, stare. He looked me over with a sweeping gaze and I was too astounded to notice that Stocky and Skinny was prodding me forward. He flicked them a look that stopped them on the spot. His eyes then landed on my bleeding chin. An almost stormy expression crossed his face and it snapped me out of my stunned state. I shivered and managed to splutter, "Philip…you…how?"

He reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. He handed it to me and I took it automatically, feeling a weird sense of unreality. How many newsies carry _handkerchiefs_? Weren't sleeves good enough? I was grateful though, and nodded my thanks. He then drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable. He narrowed his eyes into a piercing, extremely dangerous stare at Stocky and Skinny. I had seen that look before when he confronted Fire. It was almost frightening, really, how murderous he looked. "Get out," he said coldly, "I'll deal with you later."

I rubbed my cut with the handkerchief, feeling somewhat self-conscious. Stocky and Skinny scuttled out of the room and Philip walked over to close the door. I stole a quick look around and realized I was in some sort of crude lounge. He turned around from the door and walked over to me, looking very concerned. "I'm sorry," he told me. "Are you very much in pain?"

I shook my head, still trying to gather my scattered wits. "I'm fine. But…why are you here?"

He smiled slightly and crossed his arms across his chest, "Well, I would ask the same of you. Spot usually sends Cat, doesn't he?"

It took me a second to understand what he meant. "No!" I protested wildly and then winced, touching my chin again. He immediately took my arm and firmly sat me down on a nearby chair. To my supreme surprise, he took his handkerchief from my hand. "Stay still," he told me and started dabbing at my cut with a gentle carefulness that rather shocked me all over again. "This should heal quickly; don't worry."

"Oh."

His eyes were concentrated on his task and he didn't pay any attention to me as I shifted nervously. His fingers grazed against my mouth slightly as he cleaned the cut with a deftness that surprised me. He hadn't changed at all since the last time I'd seen him. He still had that regal air around him and he was still ridiculously handsome, with those profound, intense eyes that were slightly darker than his hair. Then, all of a sudden, I realized that those very same eyes were looking at me quizzically. I turned beet red and looked away, embarrassed. He then straightened and said, "Alright. That's about all I can do."

His voice was a shade deeper than usual. I looked at him sharply, suspicious. He was as composed as ever, but his eyes and compressed lips betrayed the fact that he was obviously on the verge of laughter. I frowned at him and said, "Thanks," in a rather ungrateful tone. I then asked quickly, "How do you know about Cat?"

He shrugged, putting his handkerchief away. "Spy for Spot. Quite talented at it too."

In the silence that followed, I started sorting through my mind, trying to make some sense out of this whole mess. Spot had told me Philip was Queens' leader. And Philip was here. Which had to mean 'here' was Queens. I held my breath and then released it in a huge sigh, ignoring the way Philip glanced at me.

_This _explained why I had felt like this place was so strangely familiar. Before I got hauled off for the orphanages, I used to live in Queens with my brother. I learned most of the tricks of surviving on the streets here. Stealing, scraping, begging, and even some basics of street fighting. Still, I had been only nine or ten and my memory was never very good.

I looked down. This was even worse than I thought. I remembered some of the girls telling me that Brooklyn and Queens weren't really on very good terms because of they used to be embroiled in a newsie war. I went very still. Oh no. This was not good at all. If I was on the other side and a Brooklynite was found wandering around, it would seem mighty suspicious. I looked at Philip, who was watching me in an inscrutable manner. Did he think I was a spy? Did he think I had betrayed our strange, yet interesting friendship?

I felt perfectly awful.

"Now tell me," he said at length. "What were you doing here?"

Desperation surged through me and I gestured wildly with an arm. "I wasn't spying! I swear, swear, swear I wasn't!"

He caught my flailing arm by the wrist and said soothingly, "Okay, okay, Ace. I believe you. Let's hear your story."

I calmed down, so relieved at his trust in me that I didn't really notice that he was still holding my arm. "Well, I wanted to go exploring," I started and he let me go abruptly, looking startled.

"You…wanted to go _exploring_?"

I blushed. "I know it sounds stupid, but I was sorta looking around the alleyways and stuff like that…then I came here and I didn't know where I was and then I started panicking and then Skinny and Stocky came...," I trailed off when he started laughing.

"Skinny and Stocky?"

I felt my face grow warm again. Had I actually said that out loud? "I didn't know their names," I said lamely and he laughed again.

"I can just imagine you dashing off to take on the alleys without a thought," he told me, making my mouth drop in indignation. He winked, a sight that was so horribly charming that I swallowed whatever I was going to say. "Not a very plausible story."

I didn't understand. "Huh?"

He seemed more relaxed now and more…_loose_. He always seemed rather stiff and all polished up before. Not an uncomfortable, unconfident David kind of stiffness. But more of a polite, distant sort. Now it seemed as though part of his mask was off and I wondered why. Maybe the fact that he was in his own borough helped. After all, all the other times I met him, they were in Brooklyn or Manhattan.

He sighed. "You're not being very subtle. I suppose Spot must have had a hard time catching your attention."

I stared, not understanding. Then, all of a sudden, I did. I started spluttering again, astounded at his line of reasoning. He thought I'd come looking for _him_? That I'd come seeking him out? That I _wanted _to see him for _intimate _reasons? Did he think I purposely allowed myself to be caught, so I could…he thought that…I…I…

"No! Not that either!" I threw my hands up in the air, my face burning again, "What is wrong with you? I got _lost_. I didn't know where I was! I didn't know you were here, 'cos I didn't know where 'here' was. I _wasn't _looking for you."

His eyes twinkled appreciatively. "It was a joke, Ace."

I blinked. "A joke."

"Yes. Most people here wouldn't be able to understand it." He sounded almost happy. "I'm proud of you."

I scowled and muttered, "Well, it wasn't very funny."

He shrugged. "It all depends on your point of view."

"Can't you take anything at face value?"

At my last question, he surprised me by smiling bitterly. "Well, I'm afraid past experiences have robbed me of that ease."

I stopped and frowned at him again. "Don't think like that. That's just like digging a hole for yourself to crawl around in."

He continued to smile. "Trying to change my way of thinking, Ace?"

I bit my lip. "Well, people change."

He leaned back and eyed me, idly running a finger down the side of his face. With a start, I realized he was rubbing that faint, barely visible scar. "Is that really what you think?"

What a serious turn the conversation was taking. He looked very sober now and his odd, joking manner was gone. Hoping I wasn't going to make a fool out of myself in some unknown way, I replied cautiously, "Yes. People can change."

"Hmm," he hmm-ed.

"You don't think so?"

"I disagree, yes."

"Why?"

"Most people," he remarked, as though we were talking about the weather, or something equally trivial, "Tend to only _try_ to change their ways. They succeed for a short time, if they have enough will to do so."

There was an awkward pause. I coughed and asked, "But?"

"But the human mind is ever fickle. Something else captures their attention and before they know it, they're the same as ever, reverting back to their old manner of living." He folded his hands over his head and stretched his long legs. "Of course, I'm generalizing."

"I know you are," I said, leaning forward. I was engrossed despite myself. "People _do _change. I know I have, in some ways."

"Ah?"

"Well," I said doggedly, "I used to loathe Spot."

Something in his face darkened. "That's not exactly what I'm talking about."

I sighed. "Alright, maybe I was being shallow. But I think it depends on everyone's way of thinking. If someone wants to change and if other people encourage him, sooner or later, he'll become the person he wants to be."

"What if," he murmured, his tone reflective, "One longs to amend a certain thing, but everyone else believes he cannot? Would other opinions determine the person's outcome? Or is it a purely personal decision?"

I thought for a moment and asked, "You mean…redemption?"

He smiled quietly, his manner still mild and thoughtful. "Perhaps I do. But then," he sent me an obscure glance, "Doesn't one decide himself on how to atone for one's sins?"

"N-o," I said carefully, sensing an undercurrent of something deeper than what he was asking. "Not really. It depends on the views and feelings of the person you've done something against."

He made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. "It all depends on those two things?"

I thought furiously. "No," I said again and he arched an eyebrow at me. "If it's in the case of revenge and both of you've done something horrid, then you both need to come to terms with each other immediately."

To my immense surprise (it's all surprises for me today), his eyes flashed with a kind of cynical glint. His lips curved upward again, but they had a sarcastic edge to them. "Harsh words," he said, faintly sneering, "Easy to say, are they not, for one who has experienced so little?"

I said nothing.

Immediately, he was sorry. But not because of my lack of response or my silence. I think he regretted his words the moment he said them. "That was unfair of me. I can't judge you on things I know nothing about."

I shrugged to show I didn't mind, though I was a bit startled at how…_Spot_-like he had been just now. It was like a stage actor who messed up, like he had hopped out for a second from his gentlemanly act. But I could be exaggerating and imagining things, the way I always do. "That's alright," I said generously, "It's not a secret I'm rather ignorant."

He shook his head. "But you know it. To not know one's faults is true ignorance."

I smiled; glad he hadn't embarrassed me by declaring gallantly that I had no such imperfections. Then I decided he wasn't the only who could make vague questions. "And if you know it but won't do anything to change it?"

He said, "That's sheer obstinacy."

I grinned. "Well, so you think people's _faults _can change, but not themselves as a whole?" I shook my head mock-seriously. "Something's wrong there, Philip."

He actually grinned back. "Are you trying to find loopholes?"

I shook my head again, laughing. "Sorta. I was just teasing you."

He smiled and stood up. I automatically stood up as well, feeling my sore muscles stiffening. "I'll walk you back to Brooklyn. It was nice seeing you again."

I grinned up at him. (He practically _towered _above me.) "Thanks," I said earnestly. "Thanks for not being an awful prig about all this. I don't know what…I would have done."

I nearly said 'what Spot would have done.' But I'd learned the two of them had something against each other. You could tell in the way the two of them reacted when they heard about each other (through me). At first I had been insanely curious, but now, I'm despairing of ever finding out. It probably wasn't a big deal, anyhow. Spot _was _a bit of a jerk some times, especially to people he disliked, and he probably insulted Philip once before. Or something as trivial.

I think.

Oh well.

In a way, I thought, it was a good thing it was Philip here instead of some unknown guy. If I instigated trouble between Brooklyn and Queens…I was furious with myself. It would have been an utter disaster. Then I figured, how could I have known? It was all really an accident. It wasn't entirely my fault. Not that anyone would have seen it that way.

He opened the door for me and I ducked under his arm to pass, feeling his eyes on me. I stepped outside and then stopped. All the newsies (Queens, I told myself) turned their heads towards me and stopped whatever they were doing. Some even stood up, all menacing looks and glares. Still, the silence was thick and angry enough to make me take a defensive step backwards. I felt my back press up against Philip's chest and he put his hands on my shoulders in a reassuring way. "There's been a misunderstanding," he said calmly, his voice clear and cold in the quiet.

I caught sight of Stocky and Skinny and they both narrowed their eyes at me. The newsies shifted and murmured suspiciously. Without thinking, I stepped forward abruptly, shaking off Philip's hands. He murmured my name sharply and I ignored him.

"Look," I declared, taking another step forward, "I can't say I understand why you hate me."

They glowered.

"But I want you to know I meant absolutely no harm. I didn't even know I was in Queens until I met Philip. And for your information, I used to live here, years and years ago, before I came to Brooklyn. So it's half of a home for me. So don't think it has anything to do with my being a Brooklynite and you all being…erm, uh…," I faltered and stumbled.

They all just watched me critically and I stammered, "Queen...Queeners?" I promptly lost all my confidence, "Queenites?"

Which one was it?!

I heard Philip chuckle quietly behind me and supply, "Just Queens."

I flushed right up to my hairline and said, "Yeah. Queens."

I saw some boys struggle not to smile and I scowled, embarrassed at my tremendous mistake. And just when I was trying to smooth things over too. I coughed and continued, "Well, anyway, you may think I'm here on some diabolical plan thought up by Spot, but I'm not. It's not at all like that."

"Oh yeah?" demanded one boy I didn't know. "Then why _did_ you come?"

I coughed again and shifted. I realized belatedly that I should have just kept quiet instead of speaking up. I should have let Philip do the talking. I felt a strong stab of shame. Why on earth did I have to come? To admit that I had lost my way seemed suddenly very foolish. It wasn't as if they'd believe me. I looked down and shuffled my feet, thinking furiously for something better to say.

A lie, you mean, quipped an annoying voice in my head.

I swallowed and looked up, straight at the boy. "I don't care if you don't believe me," I said, straightening my shoulders and my chin defiantly, "But I got lost."

Eyebrows shot up and some of the boys actually laughed out loud. But then I saw that most of them didn't seem very disbelieving or angry. In fact, the atmosphere seemed to lighten a little and no one was glaring at me. They were more, 'how stupid can this girl be?' instead of, 'down with the Brooklynite!' The former was slightly better than the latter. I bit my lip and the boy who had questioned me grinned. Then Philip went, "I'll be taking her back to Brooklyn."

Nods.

I glanced back up at Philip and the closest thing I've ever seen of a smirk played along his lips. "We can't let you get lost again," he said and everyone sniggered.

Then I was out of the room, out of the LH, and soon back in the streets. I was surprised at how dark it was already and surmised that I must have spent at least an hour in Queens. Would Spot be looking for me? Then I figured, no, not really. We both didn't really see each other much recently. In fact, there were days when we didn't see each other at all. Today had been an exception. I frowned and shook my head, for some reason irritated at my line of thought.

Philip said nothing while we walked in companionable silence together. Despite the darkening streets, there were still quite a few people passing by. Queens was quite a busy street. A tall girl was walking towards us, a maid of some sort, I think, dropped her basket. Courteously, Philip bent down and picked it up. I was suddenly reminded of the day I had first met him and he had picked my hat up. The girl stared for a long moment at Philip, her jaw practically hitting the floor. He gave the basket to her with a smile. She took it, went red, giggled, and finally curtsied her thanks before scuttling away.

Hmm. I wondered whether I act like that. Yuck.

We went on.

With growing awareness, I realized that every single person we passed, especially the ladies, gave him these…Glances. Some gawked outright and others (the young-ish girls) looked downright envious of me, which just about startled me. Did Philip notice all this? _Does _he notice all of this? Well, of course he does. But does he feel at all uncomfortable? What was it like to be admired simply by existing? If everyone watches you all the time, how can you truly be yourself?

"What are you thinking?" he asked abruptly, breaking the silence.

"What's it really like to always be the best-looking person in the room? Do you have to pretend all the time and act the way they expect you to? Like a play?"

"Life is a play, isn't it?"

I sighed. Obviously, I wasn't about to get a real answer. "I suppose so. In some ways, for some people."

"In more ways, you mean, for some people."

"Um, I guess. Sometimes plays aren't very different from real life though."

"Plays are derived from life, just with immense exaggerations," he said cynically, "They are ridiculous in their simplicity."

"I take it you don't like watching plays."

He shrugged. "They don't entertain me. They're all very predictable and flat. Good is always good, bad is always bad. Books are so much better."

I frowned. "Aren't they?"

"What?"

"You don't think good is good and bad is bad?"

He laughed shortly. "How many _good _people do you actually know, Ace? Truly, wonderful people?"

"I know a couple."

"You believe him to be perfectly faultless?"

I was startled at his perceptiveness. "Him?"

He looked down his nose at me. "Aren't you thinking about Spot?"

I bit my lip. "Yes. I am. But…," I shook my head, "He's not perfect. Being good doesn't mean you're perfect. Of course he has his faults. But he's good."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed and stopped. I stopped as well and looked at him curiously. He just looked back seriously. "Ace, you do know Spot has a…reputation."

"I know," I said shortly. Of course I knew. It was one of the big issues that had given so much trouble for me before. And in a sense, it still did give trouble. You see, Spot and I aren't the typical couple. We are _together_, but not entirely. Honestly, with a person like Spot...I just couldn't trust him properly yet. But I'm waiting to do so. I suppose you could say I trusted that he would eventually gain my trust. Whatever that means.

Philip started walking again, with brisk, long, commanding strides. I followed closely and we soon entered the back streets. Every nasty-looking person we passed gave Philip one glance and then looked away, apparently giving up any idea of mugging us. I realized how lucky I was before. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to.

He spoke suddenly and not entirely answered my question, as if I had asked him about something else. "They do it in their heads, you know. The flirting. Like there's an unseen romance going on that I don't know about. They smile and bridle and think I _mean _things when I talk to them. It's always been like that."

I'm afraid I went off and said, "How very terrible for you. What an awful life you must lead."

He flicked a look at me. "Indeed."

I felt awful then, for asking and for answering in such a manner. But I couldn't find the words to apologize gracefully without sounding like I was trying to flatter him. After another moment of uncomfortable silence, I said, "I met Theodore Roosevelt, you know."

That quirk of the eyebrow! How _does_ he do it? "Really, now?"

"Yeah. I even rode with him in his carriage."

"Did he have his stick with him?"

I thought. "I don't know. I didn't see it, at least. Does he carry it everywhere?"

"I'm not sure," he said, smiling. He probably thought I was such a child. So I shut up and trudged on. But the awkwardness between us was gone. He seemed more relaxed than ever and I decided I liked him better when he was like this. When he was all stiff and polite, it made me feel all stiff and polite and our conversations were just about pathetic. Today he was much more expressive, though it was still impossible to derive any meaning from his voice, which was always controlled and measured. Almost like it was trained for singing, but I couldn't imagine Philip singing.

Philip. Singing.

What a ghastly thought.

"How old are you?" I asked randomly, forgetting my resolve to keep quiet and dignified.

He cast me an amused look. "How trivial."

"Oh, come on. Humor me."

His lips twitched. "Nineteen."

"I thought you were in your twenties."

"Most people do. I'll be turning twenty in three months."

"Oh."

"You?" he looked me up and down, "Fourteen? Fifteen?"

Indignant, I tugged my cloak closer around my body and tried the best I could to look down my nose at him despite the colossal height difference. "How _dare_ you."

"Surely not sixteen?"

"I'll be turning eighteen this weekend, you nitwit."

He laughed aloud at that; an attractive, clear laugh that was pleasant to hear. "My apologies. You do look young."

"Hmph."

"It's not a bad thing. Not at all a bad thing."

"Hmph," I said again, but I was secretly pleased.

We kept walking. Then, as suddenly as I had burst into Queens, we both burst into Brooklyn. Immediately we felt the change in the atmosphere, the change in the people's attitudes. I saw Philip's shoulders tense up slightly. A nudge of a thought bothered me. If he was so uncomfortable in Brooklyn, why was it that I saw him so many times here? Or was it just because Spot was leader here and he wasn't? Maybe it was. Yes. That had to be it. Leaders are uncomfortable in other boroughs where someone else has more authority that he does.

It made sense.

Then I wondered: If one of the Brooklynites saw him, what would they do? Would they act the same way Queens did to me? For some reason, the thought disturbed me. I've never heard any of the Brooklynites complain or badmouth Queens. Maybe it was a one-sided grudge? Queens had lost that war and Brooklyn had won.

Maybe that was why Philip had reacted so oddly that day when I told him I was a Brooklynite. But then, he hadn't exploded at me. Instead, he had seemed more curious than angry.

I peered around and immediately caught my bearings. I was nearly back where I started, that is, near Ray's. "I know my way back from here," I said, turning around to face him. It was too dark now to make out his features and I could only see the shape of his head as he nodded.

"Good." I heard the smile in his voice. "It was nice seeing you again, Ace."

"Yeah. Me too."

He bowed his head in that noble way that was so…so…_him _and I watched, noticing how he brushed back a few strands of hair from his face when he straightened. For a second, there was a pause, like he was considering something and was wondering whether he should say it. I started fiddling with my hat, trying to decide whether I should say thank you again or just leave with a polite bye. Unexpectedly, a brisk, autumn breeze blew the hat right out of my hands.

He caught with lightening reflexes and gave it back to me.

What is it with me and hats?

"Well," I said, taking it and searching for something suitable to say. "Well," I said again.

"'Till next time then," he said in an oddly distant voice. I nodded.

Then he was gone, melting back into the alley we had come out from with a grace that I envied.

I stared after him and he looked back once before he disappeared out of view. I stayed where I was for about three seconds before turning around and heading back for the LH. I felt suddenly very, very tired. I passed the marketplace without really noticing that I was, passed Ray's without noticing the loud yells of Artemis and Jackal arguing again, and entered the LH without really noticing that, as usual, I had to turn the door knob twice to get the door open. I went inside the girls' room and looked around.

"Hey," Milkshake said, glancing up. "You've been gone a while."

"I got lost."

"Spot says you'll be goin' to Manhattan tomorrow with him as soon as you finish sellin'."

"Oh." I remembered with a start about the dinner on Saturday. I'd _forgotten_. Can you imagine that? "Hoorah."

I found my bunk and fell onto it with a huge sigh that seemed to come from the very bottom of my toes. I couldn't sleep though and just lay there, staring at nothing in particular.

Philip Danford had given me a lot of think about.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, I'm not sure if this is too abrupt. So what did you think? I'm afraid I went off and borrowed some of the conversation from the short story 'Beauty', which is sort of a little sequel to the book "Crown Duel/Court Duel." I just love those books and a lot of my ideas and styles are influenced by them, as some might have noticed. If you haven't read them, I stroooongly recommend that you do! Excellent books. :D

Thank you again to those who reviewed! So few now though; where did everybody go?


	5. Lessons of Life

**The Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note: **Hi everyone…I know, long time no update. My longest absence…but these past few months have been really tough and hectic for me…my mom was diagnosed with a tumor in her brain and was hospitalized about four months ago. She's back home now, but is still, as you can imagine, quite sick.

At any rate, I had hard time writing and I'm sorry for the long wait. The good thing was that I had written about half of the chapter quite some time ago already, so hey, just had to write a little more and end it!

_**Disclaimer:**_ Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

Enjoy!

* * *

The next morning was cold and bright. You could see your breath fog up the air the moment you walk outside. I yawned, rubbed my hands and my eyes, stamped my feet, and shivered once before starting on my way to the distribution center. Pithon walked past me, muttering something about umbrellas and icecream under her breath. I hurried on, forcing my feet to move faster. I didn't have all morning to sell today. Manhattan awaited and I didn't want Spot also wait for me to finish up.

"Here," Artemis said gruffly, appearing suddenly next to me. She handed me a thick, warm loaf of bread. She was already munching on another one and judging from the satisfied look on her face, it tasted great. My face split into a huge grin and I took the bread gratefully. I had planned to go without breakfast today.

"Thanks." I held it for a moment, warming my hands, before taking a bite.

"First winter's always da toughest," she remarked, with an air of worldly wisdom.

"Yah," I muttered, trying to savor each bite instead of hogging it down, which I was already doing. She glanced at me and then narrowed her eyes.

"You disappeared real sudden yesterday."

I winced and said, "Oh. I got lost." I looked away, hoping against hope that she wouldn't ask more questions.

Thankfully, she merely grunted and turned away, not pressing the matter. I adjusted my hat and scuttled on. When I first met Artemis, we had started off on the wrong foot, but we'd made up along the way. It wasn't like we apologized to each other. We just became friends. She's fiercely loyal to Brooklyn and to Brooklynites. But you do have to watch out sometimes when you're around her. See, she steals things. Half because she needs to, and half because she wants to.

She did steal this bread though and it was good. Despite my attempts at savoring, it disappeared within seconds. It also awakened my appetite like some ravenous monster. Still, it was a whole lot better than skipping breakfast, since I had actually been too tired to find dinner last night. I rubbed my hands together, feeling somewhat more optimistic about the lessons Medda was going to hold. Maybe I wouldn't make a fool out of myself infront of everyone. Maybe I'd _shine_.

Right.

I reached the distribution center in no time and took my place in the line that was already forming. In front of me stood the tall – and I do mean _tall_ – figure I knew as Jackal. Déjà vu. The very first day I'd come here, he had been the one in front of me too. He was one of the nicer Brooklynites in the borough and had immediately befriended me when I joined. And, as though he heard my thoughts, Jackal turned around, looked down (heh), and his tanned, attractive face split into a wide grin.

"Hey, hey, if it ain't Lil' Ace," he bowed dramatically and straightened, his eyes laughing at me like they always seemed to.

"Hey, hey yourself," I shot back, "And don't call me that." But my lips were twitching. Jackal always teased, always joked. He was never really serious. Unusual for a Brooklynite, but then, I really can't say anything about unusual Brooklynites. Wasn't I one of the worst?

He widened his dark eyes innocently. "But you're such a slip of a girl. Really, y'need to eat more. Exercise. Den you'll get as big and strong as me and you can beat ol' Spot over the head when he annoys you."

I blinked at the rather alarming mental image. "Er. Okay."

He laughed and flicked my hat. "Jus' jokin', kiddo. So, what's your plans for da day?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I'm going to Manhattan."

"For what?"

I grinned. "I wonder if I'm allowed to tell you."

He always did go for the theatrical style, I thought absently as he went down on one knee before me and clasped his hands together. It didn't surprise me as much as it would have two months ago, but I did jump. "O fair lady," he begged plaintively, shaking his head and pulling his lips down into a magnificently sad frown, "O fair, cruel lady. I may be only one of your many admirers, but do take pity. Keep no secrets from me." He proceeded to kiss my hand.

Everyone standing in line either glared at us or rolled their eyes because they were still sleepy and wanted to wallow in their depressed state. I swatted him away, laughing. "Stop that."

He pulled himself up and grinned. "Well? Has my wheedling worked?"

I rolled my eyes, but I gave in. I explained about the invitation, the dinner, and the dreaded lessons. When I finished, he went: "Spot? Manners? _You_?"

I sniffed. "Well, yeah. Among other things. So sympathize, or I shall tell Artemis that you were the one who put that can of cockroaches under her pillow."

He blanched. "You _wouldn't_."

"I would too."

Subdued, he muttered, "Heartless, awful Ace. That's what we should all call you. Awful Ace."

I laughed and prodded him forward. "Go on. The line's moving."

After some time, Jackal's turn came and as usual, he flicked the coin at the man who was in charge of the center. The man caught the coin with practiced ease, his face bland and bored as usual. Jackal moved on with a jaunty wave of his hand to me and I took his place. The man sighed, looking very tired of his life as I paid for my papes. He gave them to me and waved me on.

"Thank you," I said and received a suspicious look from him. I laughed and went on my way.

Same as ever, the headlines were incredibly pathetic. Shaking my head, I proceeded to head to the docks, belting out nonsense about scandalous affairs between the mayor and some lowly commoner. Honestly, I reflected, considering all the stories we make up about the mayor, he must be the most colorful man in New York. But then again, he was the easiest one to lie about because he was the one most mentioned in the papes.

By the time I finished, the sun had come to a point right above me and the coldness of the day seemed to fade a little. Along with the sun, my mood rose and I started to actually look forward to going to Manhattan. Sure, the lessons might be a Pain, but meeting Race and Jack again might be nice.

Then I wondered: Hmm. Maybe Race might not come? David had said the 'key figures' were invited. Was Race a 'key figure'? I wasn't one, but I was going as Spot's date. Wait a second, _who _exactly was coming?

Key figures as Manhattan and Brooklyn (Brooklyn because Spot had triggered everyone elses' support)? Or leaders from every borough?

Could it be that Philip was going too? Because he was Queens' leader?

Of course, all this time I was trying to avoid thinking about Philip. I'm actually not really sure why. He was the kind of person I enjoyed spending time with but then later on, the things he said and did confused me. Like our conversation in the Queens LH. I couldn'tbelieve that he had started it because he thought I was all philosophical and wise. He _knew _I wasn't. I didn't even want to think about the nonsense I probably spurted out. Then there was that whole undertone running beneath it all while we were talking. It was like he was _waiting _for me to say something. Except I didn't know what and probably disappointed him.

I fiddled with the ends of my shirt, frowning. He was interesting. And not just because he was easy to look at. Besides, I didn't think of him in _that _sort of way. Sure, he was probably the best-looking person I'd ever set eyes on and I have to admit, I was just a tiny bit flattered that he was spending so much time with me (why was he?), but I couldn't imagine being in familiar terms with him, let alone intimate.

Anyhow, despite his gentlemanly and polite manner, he must be very popular with girls. He was _used _to being goggled at. I knew that from the way he acted while we were walking back to Brooklyn.

I nearly laughed then: Wasn't he an awful lot like Spot in that sense?

But he wasn't at all like Spot, at the same time. He said he didn't enjoy the attention. But still, that just couldn't be true. A part of him _has_ to like being noticed and to inspire desire all the time. Really, it was rather priggish of him to declare he didn't enjoy it. Such a plaintive, dramatic thing to say. 'Ooo, my beauty is both a curse and a gift!'

Still, he had such fascinating opinions and views of life, even though I disagreed with most of them. Very cynical views, but curiously in depth. What had he gone through to have such ideas? That was what I wanted to know. He had to be more than what he seemed to be. But he was so very nice.

I liked him, I decided with sudden amiability. I liked him a lot. I liked the way he treated me like some high-class lady instead of a meager, ignorant little girl who he just happened to bump into in the streets. I liked his abrupt spurts of humor and his intelligent, stylish remarks. He was becoming a very nice acquaintance, if not exactly _friend_.

I neared the Lodge and immediately saw Spot, with his dark, blonde-streaked hair hidden with that gray cabby hat. He had his back towards me and seemed to be looking for someone. Me? I quickened my steps and bellowed, "Over here, Brooklyn!"

He half-turned to see me and I immediately knew that something was wrong.

It wasn't that he was scowling with a dark cloud over his head. In fact, his lips curved upwards when he saw me running up. I stopped when I reached him and experimentally grinned broadly up at him. He didn't exactly grin back, but he did smile.

"Hello," I said, as he nodded.

"Hey," he said and brushed his lips against mine.

Something was wrong. I'm not sure what. He was distant in that kiss, like he was thinking of something else that was miles and miles away while being with me here in the flesh. Not to mention that by this time, he would have made a remark about my being late, or my appearance, or how badly I must have sold. But he remained quiet. I bit my lip and looked away. A part of me wondered whether he had found out about why I had disappeared yesterday. Maybe he was jealous about Philip becoming such close friends with me?

That was utterly ridiculous.

But I couldn't make myself ask. I suppose I was rather afraid of his answer. So I simply said, "Shall we?"

He surprised me by shaking his head. "No. Wait."

I waited. Then I asked, "So…are you ever going to come around to telling me why?"

Spot shook his head, "She's never late," he said quietly to himself and added, "Cat was supposed to meet me here today dis mornin'."

I frowned. "That's odd."

Spot rubbed the back of his neck and sighed tiredly. "I know. She went to Queens yesterday to check up on some rumors about Duke."

"Duke's in Queens?" I asked, rather breathlessly. To think that if Philip's newsies hadn't been the one to find me, it might have been Duke. Queens wasn't that large a place.

Spot shot me a queer look. "We don't know, but…well, Cat's late."

I swallowed hard at what he was insinuating. "Surely Cat can take care of herself," I said, not even convincing myself. "She beat Pithon, remember?"

Even though That furrow in his brow lessened and he smiled crookedly at me.

"Well," he said, and I could see him making himself forget about Cat for the moment. It was like he was switching to another state of mind. I wish I could do that. "Let's get goin'. Ready for Medda and her tortures?"

I groaned. "Yeeech."

"Good," he laughed and then we were off. Then he asked, "So, I heard you spent some time at Queens yesterday too?"

My eyes widened guiltily and I felt my face slowly grow red. How did he know? Did someone see me? Did Cat see me? I felt a sudden spur of anger at the thought of being spied on, but then told myself I was being irrational. Cat had gone to find out about Duke, not to spy on me.

But still. Heh.

I muttered a sullen, "Oh." Then I shot him a sidelong glance. "How did you know?"

He shrugged and tugged his hat further down over his head. At least, I thought, he didn't seem angry or upset. Maybe keeping it a secret was quite useless. "I'm supposed to know where my newsies are."

I raised my eyebrows. "I am suspicious."

His lips curved upwards. "As usual. Alright: Cat was dere."

My mouth dropped open. "You didn't ask her to-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ace. I _told_ you, she was checkin' up on news about Duke," he had the most peculiar expression on his face. "But listen: Queens and Brooklyn ain't in very good terms with each other."

I nodded. "Don't I know it! They were awfully unfriendly."

Like a light bulb, my words seemed snap on a suspicion in Spot's mind. His eyes fixed on my chin suddenly and they narrowed, "They _hurt _you?"

I remembered Skinny pushing me. I reached up and rubbed the cut. "Well, no. It was mostly me being clumsy."

Which was mostly true…I could tell he didn't believe me. "I tripped. That's all."

I had this horrible thought of Spot raging on to Queens with the rest of Brooklyn behind his back for _my _sake. Can you imagine? That would really be a nightmare.

He watched me for a second and then his eyes crinkled into a perfectly adorable smile. "You really are a terrible liar, aren't you?"

I laughed, mostly because he just about looked utterly un-Spottish with that Smile. "Hey, by now you're supposed to have learned to _let _me lie and think I've gotten away with it."

He shook his head then. "What were you doing dere?"

I explained. He laughed when he heard I had gotten lost, as expected. But I didn't mind at all, him laughing. I personally thought he ought to laugh more, as in really, truly laugh. In fact, I've never seen anyone who could make him laugh that way except for me. It's not as ridiculous as it sounds, really. And don't think I need to get a life, being proud of making someone laugh. As a leader, he gets a bit too grim and scary sometimes. It's up to me to loosen him up. Lighten and liven him up a bit.

Of course, in my explanation, I omitted my conversation with Philip. Spot knew he was leader of Queens anyhow, and would have deducted that I met him. So it wasn't like I was keeping it a secret. Anyway, it made me uncomfortable, talking about him to Spot. I wasn't really sure why.

Ah well.

It's amazing how fast time flies when you spend it with someone like Spot. And not just time, but distance. From what I thought with my marvelous sense of direction, we must be nearing Manhattan LH. But we were going to Medda's place, so we skirted around and headed there. It just about came within our sights when we also spotted Jack, standing outside. He noticed us almost at the same moment.

He waved at us. I waved back. Spot of course, doesn't do waves. We reached him and he and Spot spit-shook. All the usual thoughts about germs and bacteria assaulted me and I shuddered. If Spot doesn't do waves, I don't do spit-shakes. Unless I absolutely have to.

Jack greeted us and then remarked, "You should see what Medda's _done_."

The way he said 'done' made me shift. "What's she done?"

He shook his head and Spot, his face impassive and with the resigned air of a man going to the gallows, went in. I swallowed hard and followed him in.

Medda Larkson was a woman who was exceptionally kind to newsies. This was her stage and she performed here constantly. Sometimes she'll let us have parties and she'll provide food and entertainment. It was quite large, with lots and lots of seats and halls and stages. I recognized the place where Jack had fallen in the rally. I also remembered where Oscar Delancey had practically tried to murder me and where Spot had gallantly come to the rescue.

How long ago it all seemed. Like a past life or something. Yet, it was only a few months ago.

Then I entered the main hall and all my memories promptly fled. Right there was a long table with chairs on each side. An embroidered tablecloth covered the wooden surface of the table and fancy-looking silverware (not real silver though, probably) were placed where each guest had to sit. Medda, dressed in a horrendously pink gown, beamed happily at us. Around her number of newsies were piling about. I recognized most of them as Manhattaners.

I stole a look up at Spot and, for the first time, saw him look properly horrified. But only for the briefest second; he went blank again. I noticed David standing at the side of the table. Some kind of ridiculous, classical music was streaming in, but I couldn't see from where. There was no ex food; I suppose Medda couldn't afford _that_.

"Hello, Conlon!" Medda said cheerily. Spot smiled (how he could smile, I don't know) and went up to her. I stayed with Jack.

Then, all of a sudden, a growing horror and suspicion grew in my mind.

Medda's dress.

Oh no.

Would I have to wear a dress on Saturday too?

The more I thought about it, the more I realize this was probably so. Maybe not a dress like the one Medda was wearing. But the dinner was formal and rich ladies wore dresses to social dinners.

So that was it.

Then I told myself that I didn't have a dress and so, I couldn't wear anything of the sort. Too bad for me. I grew calmer, but only slightly. Because I knew with a dreadful sort of certainty, I was going to be wearing a Dress. And it was going to be hideous.

"Jack?"

He glanced down. "Hmm?"

"_Who _is coming?"

"Well," he said, "We was hopin' da leaders from every borough."

My eyes widened. So Philip _was_ going to be coming too. But he wasn't here. Maybe not everyone was coming to Medda's…lessons?

Jack mistook my reaction. "Yeah. So dat would be Bronx, Harlem, Queens, Midtown, Battery, and East Side."

"Oh. Wow. All those newsies."

He shook his head then. "But den we found out a whole lot of 'em doesn't want to come. Dey nervous about da whole prospect and some 'don't have da time'," he smirked a bit, "I think dey're scared."

"Hey, where's Sarah?"

"Oh…," he coughed, "Er, we sorta got into a fight da other day. Not sure if she's comin' to da real thing."

I felt sorry for him, even though I knew I shouldn't; I hadn't heard about what the fight was about so I certainly couldn't take sides. I settled for an impersonal nod and then asked, "So…again, who _is _coming?"

"Only Harlems and Queens'll be comin', with their dates."

I did a rapid calculation. "Eight. Eight people at most."

He shook his head again. "Nope. White wants more. She wants a big fancy dinner. So some of my boys will be coming. So around twelve."

I laughed suddenly then, only then feeling the enormity of it all. "What a mess! That White lady probably doesn't know how much of a fuss she's causing."

He straightened his red bandana. "Ah, well, she's one of dem hoity-toity folks. Dey don't care really, and to people like dem, dis is a tiny affair."

"Tiny affair," I repeated and then moaned. "Oh, _Jack_."

He chuckled. "What's gettin' you so troubled, huh?"

I opened my mouth to complain and rant, but then paused. Jack and everyone weren't having that great a time either. I wasn't the only one feeling awfully unhappy. So I shut my mouth and smiled tightly.

"Nothing," I said determinedly. "Nothing is troubling me. Brooklyn," I added, some of my humor returning, "is never troubled."

He smiled charmingly. "Good girl."

He steered me towards Spot and Medda's direction. On the way, I cast a look around at the company I was going to be spending some time in for the next few days. I quickly counted. Racetrack, Mush, Skittery, Kid Blink, David, and Jack were the Manhattaners. There was one boy I didn't recognize, standing in the corner and just watching. He looked tense and all the Manhattaners seemed to be avoiding him.

"Hey," I started again, nudging Jack.

"Yeah?"

"Who's that?"

Jack followed my gaze and saw the boy. To my surprise, his face darkened visibly and he muttered angrily in a voice like stone, "Dat's Verge. Harlems."

I frowned at his reaction. "What's wrong with him?"

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Harlems and Manhattan ain't doing too well now. Dey sayin' stuff about us we don't like."

"Oh." Annoyingly, my mind quipped: That's exactly what Philip said would happen.

Then Jack's smile returned and, as disarmingly as ever, he said, "Well, don't worry 'bout it. It ain't Brooklyn's problem."

"I suppose so."

Then he left me, going off to join Racetrack and the rest. I stood there, alone, and glanced again at the guy in the corner. I looked him over with some curiosity.

He was fairly tall and averagely built, I suppose. Around my age, maybe, but it was hard to tell. He had sharp-features and a slightly pointy chin. But it was a nice sort of face. Nothing disfavored or ill-looking about it. Maybe a bit sullen, if you squint. But over all cute. But what really caught your attention was his hair, which was an incredibly pale shade of blonde. I mean, it wasn't just blonde. It was a strange, washed out, _white _sort of blonde. He wore a black hat, which set off his hair even more in contrast.

He looked up then, as though he felt my gaze, and then he flashed me a quick grin. I just blinked at him and turned away.

Harlems?

He seemed friendly, I suppose.

I quickly headed for Spot, who was gesturing and talking with Medda. Well, _he_ didn't seem at all worried or apprehensive now. All brimming with confidence and whatnot. He noticed me standing and held out a hand. I took it and he pulled me to him with a deftness that made me blink.

"Medda," he said smoothly, "Dis is Ace."

She hadn't changed at all since the last time I saw her, which was at the rally. She was tall and very beautiful, with red hair that tumbled past her shoulders. I didn't really know what to think of her. She was one of those adults who try to _mingle _with you and your friends and try to be all buddy-buddy with you. It's a bit uncomfortable sometimes, because I personally don't want anything to do with her. Well, probably my mild dislike for her was because every boy, even Spot, flirted with her. Nothing serious, of course, but I rather thought it was strange how a grown woman like that just let them do it. Pity and all that, I guess.

Oh well. She _was _nice, in a way.

So I just smiled and tried to look pleasant. We had met before, but I doubt she remembered.

Then she proved me wrong by exclaiming, "Why, Ace! Hello!"

"Haha," I said eloquently. "Hi."

She took it and laughed. "To think you're the girl Spot finally settled down with. Everyone's been talking about it."

"Oh. Haha."

"But that _is _nice," she smiled broadly and looked me over with a practiced eye. She nodded then. "Yes. You're just the sort he needs."

I glanced at Spot and gave him a mock-flirtatious smile. "You hear that? I'm just the sort you need."

He sent me a swift, intense look. "You sure are."

I just wrapped my fingers around his hand and decided he was acting quite wonderful. Medda smiled and then looked around. I took the chance to eye her red gown. It was awfully frilly.

I will not wear frills. No matter what they force me into, I shall not wear frills. I won't. I will not. I _shan't_.

"Everyone!" Medda bellowed and all the newsies turned to her and us. "Since we're all here, shall we start?"

Amidst the groans and titters (Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's true: Mush titters) she said, "Now, this is a good experience for you all. I'll do my best to prepare you, but really, it'll do you good to learn some manners."

I bet she was enjoying all this. Not enjoying our discomfort, mind you. But enjoying this opportunity to do us all some 'good' and civilize us and whatnot. But I really shouldn't think so badly of her. She was just trying to help.

She made us all sit down first. I found myself sandwiched between the blonde guy (Verge, Jack said?) and Spot. On the Verge's left sat Mush, who was talking to Kid Blink. Spot seemed preoccupied with the silverware. I stole a glance at Verge, who was quietly watching everyone again with a somewhat distant manner. He then flicked me a look. I decided to speak to him.

"Hey," I said amiably.

He just stared blankly at me for a second, like he wondering whether he should reply or just ignore me. Then I saw that quick flash of teeth that was a grin. "'ello."

"I'm Ace," I said and stuck out my hand. Spot, on my other side, leaned over to see who it was I was speaking to. Verge took my hand in a surprisingly gentle grip and then glanced meaningfully at Spot.

"_Dat _Ace, eh?" he remarked, a strong New York accent mingling in his words. At that I narrowed my eyes at him, instantly suspicious. _That _Ace?

"What do you mean?"

He smiled a funny, slow smile that made his blue eyes crinkle and disappear. "It's jus' we've heard all 'bout youse," that smile grew broader and he added, "Pleasure t'meetcha, I'm shuah."

"Hey, hey Verge," Spot said casually, leaning forward a little so he could talk across me.

"Spot," he replied as a manner of greeting.

"How's Harlem?"

The other guy shrugged and finally let go of my hand. "Alrigh'. At least," he said, pointedly giving a nasty look at the Manhattaners, "It would be."

If it weren't for…?

Well, I knew what he meant. We all did. Jack, who was sitting across the table, glowered. Actually, everyone glowered at him, all the Manhattaners. Spot didn't really do anything, just sat there with a curious sort of look on his face. I shifted and looked down at my hands, wondering what was going to happen. Were they all going to gang up on Verge?

Then Medda broke the tension by saying, "Alright now, don't be startin' a fight in my place."

She sounded suddenly very authoritative. I looked at her with new respect. Maybe she wasn't all frills and smiles as she seemed. Verge flicked back his blonde hair and leaned back into his seat, his lips tight and compressed angrily. I could feel his tension and how uncomfortable he was and I glanced at Spot, wondering what he made out of all this.

He met my gaze and just shrugged faintly. I frowned at him, knowing he was just pretending to not care again. Medda was still talking. "The dinner's going to be a very hard affair on you all. So cooperate or we won't be able to learn anything."

"Yes, Medda," chorused the Manhattaners easily. Medda smiled.

"First of all, we are going to learn how to greet people. Pay attention."

Racetrack seemed nonplussed. "Greet people? We know how to greet people."

Medda nodded. "Yes, but I mean _properly_. Now, I am Caroline White," she tilted her head up and looked down at us in an imperious manner. We all snickered. "Now, how would you greet to me, Verge?"

He stood up and approached her. He took off his hat and bowed, quite gallantly. "'Ello, Mrs. White. Da boys call me Verge. Thanks for invitin' us; da food looks delicious."

Medda looked stunned for a second. Then she said, "Good job."

Then we all had to do it. Poor Mush stumbled over his words and had to do it twice. Spot was so smooth Medda actually laughed aloud. Jack was all smiles and grins. Racetrack was so cocksure that Medda made him do it again, without 'that idiotic smile' on his face. Then she looked at me.

"Ace, let's see you curtsy."

I shakily stood up and was about to sweep her my best when Spot poked me in the back. I squeaked, then turned around quickly, snatched his hat, and swatted him with it. "Funny, really," I shot, trying to sound annoyed and sarcastic, but my smile and everyone else laughing ruined it all.

Then I curtsied, trying to remember everything all the mistresses taught me at the orphanage - back straight, don't wobble… - and then came up with my most polite smile. Inside I was screaming. She had asked me to curtsy. That meant I would have to be wearing a _dress_. My world was over.

Medda seemed satisfied. Then we had to go on with eating. Play-eating, that is, because there was no food.

"How come dere's so many forks and spoons?" Skittery grumbled darkly, picking up one tiny spoon with distaste.

"For each dish," I said, without thinking, "You have to always use the fork or spoon on the outside."

Medda's eyebrows rose. "That's right. Where'd you learn that?"

"Oh," I shifted uncomfortably as all eyes turned upon me, "Orphanage."

Spot was smiling slightly. "Told ya you'd do fine."

Medda then started explaining about manners at the table. We all tried to follow, to listen attentively. One shouldn't slurp one's soup. Restrain yourself ("Do you understand, Kid?") at the table; don't dive into the food. Don't ask for seconds unless it's offered, which it probably won't. Hold your cups like so. Don't flirt with the girls. Take your hat off. Always bring the topic back around to the hostess, unless asked specific questions about the strike. And _don't_, for heaven's sake, don't spitshake.

"Oh," Medda added hastily, "And don't make any jokes."

"Aw, why not, Medda?" Spot asked with a smirk. "Can't we have some humor?"

I rolled my eyes. "_Your_ humor will get us all kicked out."

All laughed.

See what I mean about humor?

We went on to comments and remarks to keep the conversation flowing. Amidst all this, Verge was joining in as well. But none of the Manhattaners met his eyes and if they did, I saw some quite top notch glares. Spot, I'm sure, was aware of it all, but pretended like nothing was happening.

But something was. Verge started getting more and more quiet, and his comments more acerbic. He eventually became silent, just looking coldly at those across his table, especially Jack. It was as though something was eating him up inside and he was dying to let it out. I glanced at him and looked away.

"Lovely ring you have on dere, Miss White."

"_Jack! _Don't you dare say that! She's a widow, isn't she? Perhaps the ring is her wedding ring and she hasn't taken it off? Consider everything you say before saying them, even if they are compliments."

"What a fine dinner dat was. Me stomach's all full."

"_My _stomach. _My._"

"Medda, are…are dey gonna have…dancin'?"

"Maybe, Mush, maybe."

"Oh."

"We'll learn that tomorrow, okay?"

"So…Medda, what should we do if she asks about Jack selling us out?"

The room fell into stony silence.

Medda didn't seem to know what to do. Verge looked very satisfied with himself and I suppose he had good right to. It was a question to which none of us knew the answer (except maybe Spot), it was a nasty reminder that many newsies were still angry at Jack, and…well, honestly speaking, it nudged a deep, deep part in all of us where we still had some doubts, mistrusts, and confusion about the entire situation. That was why, I think, it was a while before anyone spoke or did anything.

Then Kid Blink swore, loudly, and shot up to his feet with black murder written across his face. This rather surprised me, since Kid never seemed to lose his temper. Of all people, it was Racetrack who dragged him back down to his seat. Spot leaned back in his chair slowly, as though he was going to let Jack do it all.

"Verge," Medda started, but Jack cut her off with a wave of his hand. He leaned forward and looked at Verge with mock interest in his face.

"I'm curious about dat too. What do you think we should to do?"

Verge glared. "Maybe tell 'em da truth."

Jack suddenly snarled at him, "What would dat be?"

Verge's chair was knocked over as he stood up violently. "You tell me, Jack. You tell me!"

Somehow, this all seemed very tiresome. _And _repetitive.

"I didn't do it, Verge," Jack answered, abruptly calm again, "You know it. So stop tryin' to make trouble."

Verge looked like he was about to burst. Then Spot cut in out of nowhere, "Don't flatter yourself, Harlem," he toyed with the fork on the table and smiled coldly at the boy next to me, "Don't think you're da only one who'd had da brains to question Jack."

_This _made him pause. I could see him pedaling back, could see him realizing that of all people, Spot would have gotten immediately to the point with Jack before. He frowned, shooting a morbid sort of glance at the two of them. Then he turned to Spot, who had put down the fork and was now playing with the knife.

"You believe him?" Verge asked carefully, his attitude quite subdued now. Apparently his trust in Spot was a whole lot more than his distrust of Jack.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

Verge fell silent again. He eyed Jack. "So you sayin' you've got yoah reasons but you ain't tellin' us?"

"Dat's right. And not to you, of all people."

I winced, thinking that that remark was a mistake on Jack's part. But Verge just stared at Jack. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut into it with the knife in Spot's hands. I gripped the edge of the table, hoping Verge would let it go. I looked around as the silence grew uncomfortably long and Race's chocolate brown eyes met mine. For a second, he looked stony. Then he winked, quite suddenly. It did nothing with the anger in the room, but it made me relax a bit. If, I mused, I had been a Manhattaner, Race would have been marvelous to hang out with.

It was at that moment when my mind had started to wander when Verge finally said, "Alrigh', Jack."

"Yeah?'

"Yeah," drawled Verge and he turned to Medda with an apologetic smile, "Sorry fer interruptin'. Y'can continue now."

…That was it? No apologies, no declarations of belief? (or disbelief, for that matter)

Well, I was proved wrong quite soon. Before Medda could reply or Verge sit back down, Kid Blink suddenly said a little too pleasantly, "Hey Verge?"

The poor guy only had time to go, "What?" before he went flying backwards from the bad end of a wild punch. Kid Blink massaged his hand with a sort of triumphant air as he smirked down at Verge.

You know what.

I laughed.

It was awful. A short laugh just burst out of me. I laughed at the look on Verge's face. I laughed at the utter unexpectedness of Kid Blink's violent action. I laughed at the entire ridiculousness of it all.

For a moment, everyone just stared at me. Then Medda coughed. Spot snorted. Race snickered. And then everyone was howling with laughter. Even Verge smiled ruefully as he picked himself up. I looked at him apologetically and he just shook his head in a rather amused manner. "Thanks, Ace," he said dryly, "Rubbin' it in and makin' it worse, dat's what you're doin'."

He didn't seem mad though. He shot Kid Blink an annoyed look and returned to his chair. "Still don't like Manhattan though," he added with that sullenness I thought I had detected earlier. It was coming out quite visibly now. Blink just laughed.

"Dat's alright," he replied good-naturedly, "We don't like Harlem."

This was, I suppose, a wonderful example of people agreeing to disagree.

* * *

We were invited to stay on at Manhattan's LH, but Spot hadn't forgotten about Cat. We went back to Brooklyn. The way back was rather boring. He didn't seem very talkative and I was tired in a vague way. It was as though Medda's lessons and that little incident between Verge and Jack had drained me in every way that wasn't physical.

We went to Ray's for some food and, since I didn't have any money, Spot paid for me. It was wonderful of him, really. We silently ordered some food and ate, both of us rather oddly quiet. Then I decided to ask him a question that had been bothering me quite a while after the incident with Verge.

"Spot?"

"Mm."

"You know, if Verge was acting all like that…what about the other boroughs? I should think they must be suspicious of Jack too, right?"

"Dat's right," he said vaguely, "Dey are. But once dey hear Verge is backin' down, dey'll do da same; especially since I'm already vouchin' for Jack. Verge will sorta confirm it."

"But wouldn't they want to know what happened?'

"Well…see, sometimes for newsies things happen that don't have an explanation. Somethin' happened and sometimes you jus' gotta take it as it is. As long as it ends well," he shrugged. "Most of us are used to these sorts of things."

"Except you."

"What?" His eyes came into focus, as though he hadn't been paying attention before.

"Yeah," I continued calmly, "_You_ aren't used to it, are you?"

He just looked at me for a second, with a curious expression on his face. He seemed to be studying me, as though he wanted to see where I was going with all this. Then, quite seriously, he said, "Dat's right. I aint." He sounded somewhat surprised.

"Hm," I smiled, "Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah. It's a good thing. Don't you see? It's because you and some few others, like Jack and Verge, weren't 'used' to taking things as it is that the strike worked out. Isn't that right?"

It was exactly at that moment when the door to Ray's slammed open with a sharp _bang_. I nearly jumped out of my chair in surprise and dropped my fork. Pithon came bursting into the room, her face pale and white. She looked out of breath, as though she had been running hard. The expression on her face was enough to tell that something had upset her badly, which was an unnerving fact in itself: Pithon rarely got so unsettled.

Spot had shot to his feet in alarm, his reflexes kicking in so fast that Pithon still hadn't seen us at our table by the time he was standing. When she did, her entire body seemed to sag with relief.

"Spot! Thank God you're here!" she gasped out, trying to catch her breath. It took some time for her to continue as she gulped in air, her hand at her throat, "Sorry, it's just…just…oh, it has to be _Duke!_"

A dead, cold feeling hit my stomach and the world seemed to reel. Spot went very still and his body seemed to tense up. He took Pithon by the shoulders and I thought for a second he was going to shake her. But the only thing he said was: "Take your time, Pithon. Calm down."

Instead of settling down, Pithon's eyes welled up with tears. I stared at her in horror and looked at Spot, scared. He just watched her evenly, but I could tell from the way his eyes darkened that he was worried. This time, he shook her slightly and asked urgently, "What happened, Pithon?"

"It's Cat," she furiously wiped at her eyes while Spot and I froze, "she turned up at the LH…oh, _Spot, _dere was blood all over…" she looked at us with scared, angry eyes, "Spot, she's been _stabbed_."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hmm. Dramatic, huh? This rather takes the story on a darker tone, doesn't it? But don't worry; I'm not going to make it into some angsty story with a lot of character deaths. At least, not too much. :P Well, tell me what you think.

Thank you for reading and I look forward to your comments!

(Hey, guess what? 300 reviews for Ace of Hearts!!)


	6. How to Save a Life

**The Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note: **Hey, hey, I'm finally back. Thanks for all your kind reviews concerning my mom. She's still very sick, but recently has been getting gradually better.

This chapter is pretty fast-paced…but I'm rather afraid I wrote it in a slap-dash way. I dunno how it is; tell me what you think. It's been so long since the last update so you might wanna re-read some stuff if you don't remember. I certainly had to.

**UBER NOTE: **I made a Ace of Hearts video! Check it out! Some clips have awful quality, 'cos they were quite hard to find. There are a few references to the story, so see if you can catch them. The video is in the _site of my profile._ The part where it says Homepage. Somehow it won't let me link here. Gah. Anyway...

Tell me what you think!

_**Disclaimer:**_ Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

Enjoy!

* * *

_August 10, 1899_

_Dear Diary,_

_Well._

_I'm not really sure how to start. It's past midnight now and I still can't sleep. Today was just…bizarre. _

_Cat's alive, not dead, like I had assumed at first, but she's in a bad way. She has this really yucky, long wound that actually isn't that deep, but goes from her jaw across to her other shoulder. Pike said that the knife meant to go for her neck but she probably twisted away to try and avoid it. The gash itself isn't exactly that bad, but the thing is it's got infected. She's in a fever. Half-delirious._

_It all seems unreal, you know. Cat was always calm, composed, and efficient. Of all the Brooklynites, she seemed to be the one who could take care of herself the most. Then she got herself stabbed. _

_It's awful. We don't know what to do. __**I **__don't know what to do. And Spot…_

I sighed and looked over at the figure on the bunk across of mine. Cat was moaning and I could see beads of sweat covering her face. Above me, Artemis moved restlessly and I could tell that I wasn't the only one who was unable to sleep. I turned back to my diary and sighed again, the light from my candle waning.

"Duke…"

I dropped the pen in my surprise and stared at Cat, who was tossing and turning. Of course, I knew it was Duke who had done this to her. But hearing it coming from her lips gave me a nasty jolt. Why did he try to kill her? As some sort of sick message? Or, maybe he just recognized her and used his knife anyway.

Thinking about it made my stomach turn. I gritted my teeth as I stood up and went to the washroom. Getting a piece of rag that looked relatively clean, I went to Cat and wiped her forehead, trying to cool her off. Yeah, so what if Brooklynites don't usually show tenderness. I don't _care_. At this point, honestly, who could care?

She seemed to relax, just a little, from the coolness of the cloth. I kept it on her forehead, biting my lip. I tried to avoid looking at the wound, but it was hard, because it was so…_there_. It looked terrible; an awful, puckered sort of redness showing how badly infected it was. It had stopped bleeding, but we hadn't been able to get the blood stains out of her clothes so it still looked dreadful. I looked at her face, hating how it was contorted with pain.

I never talked to her before, other than an occasional hello, or a brief 'question/answer' moment. In fact, I'd never seen her _talk_ to anyone but Spot and Kid Blink.

Oh.

Kid Blink. Does he know?

We hadn't had the time. Perhaps tomorrow. Nothing could be done tonight.

My thoughts unconsciously wandered back. My brother had been stabbed too. And no, I don't remember it as though it were yesterday. It's all rather hazy. People don't like remembering bad memories, and I had been very young then. But I do remember how he just…died. No dramatic last words. No meaningful, expressive last looks. He just closed his eyes and stopped breathing. It had been such a cruelly simple and _real_ death, yet at the same time so surreal.

Cat, on the other hand…

Well, I'm not going to lie. I don't know her well and I wasn't a friend. I wasn't taking care of her because I liked her very much; I was doing it simply because she was one of us. That's all. I would be sad if she died. But I wouldn't be wrecked up with tears. And even though I hated myself for it, it was the blunt, blunt truth.

And yet, despite her odd seclusion from us, she was, in her own, quiet way, a loyal friend. Not to specific people, like how you have best friends. But to us all, generally and equally. Maybe that's why I didn't consider her a friend to me, specifically. She treated everyone the same way. Or did she? Once again, I wondered what kind of a person Cat was. Perhaps, when all this was over, I'd try to find out. That is, if she…

We all knew that without proper help, Cat didn't have a chance.

Oh, bother it all.

"Still alive?"

I whirled around in surprise and saw Artemis, a bland expression on her face. Her brusque question startled me and I felt a slight rise of annoyance, then I saw how tense her shoulders were, how her eyes looked suspiciously _too _widely uncaring, and how she was fidgeting with her usually calm and deft fingers – the ones that nimbly slipped watches, necklaces, purses right off of people – behind her back.

"Yeah," I replied finally, turning back to Cat. "No change."

There was a long pause as she drew nearer and looked at the unconscious girl.

"Ironic."

"What is?"

"Dat Duke stabbed her."

"Why?"

"'Cos he was da only one who knew how to deal with injuries. Every borough has someone who knows, sorta like a doctor. Manhattan has Specs. Queens has Professor," she gestured vaguely, "Duke was Brooklyn's."

"Oh. A general, all-round fellow, huh?"

"Cat never liked him," she suddenly snarled. "Even when he joined. I didn't either."

I didn't say anything, but her words reminded me of the look on Spot's face when he saw Cat. Among everything that was happening, that look had scared me the most. He had seemed like he was beyond reasoning. I wouldn't put it behind him to go to Queens and rip it apart to find Duke.

Behind me, I heard Pithon slide down from her bunk to land on near us. "She's not gonna die."

Both Artemis and I made vague noises of agreement. "She won't," she repeated. Pithon furiously gritted her teeth, clenching her fists. "She _won't_."

I went to my bunk and sat there for a second, leaving Artemis and Pithon to stand awkwardly near Cat. One would think that a rough life like this would make them used to death and injuries and whatnot. Maybe you'd think that even I, who have seen my share of blood, would be immune to all this. But then I wasn't. Neither were they. And I think that's good. That's human, you know. If you numb yourself up to pity and sorrow, what kind of a person would you be?

All of a sudden, I felt a nagging jab in the back of my mind. A thought…a remark, a notion I had had in my thoughts…

…_We all knew that without proper help, Cat didn't have a chance._

Why, of course.

You're an _idiot_, Ace. An utter _fool_. I shot to my feet, my heart already beating faster with urgency. The answer to save Cat was so very ordinary.

Find a doctor!

Honestly! Why didn't I or anyone realize it sooner? Sure, I knew that we couldn't possibly pay for it, even if we put all our money together. But at this point I didn't care. Somehow I'd find a doctor and make him come and help Cat. I must, must, _must_.

Artemis and Pithon were staring at me. I suppose I must have looked rather frantic. I snatched my cloak, fairly yelling out, "I'm going out. Watch her until I come back or I shall murder you," I stormed for the door and hollered over my shoulder, "I'll be right back."

I trotted down the stairs and burst into the dimly-lit street. It was empty as expected; who would be out at a time like this? It must be one in the morning. Would I be able to persuade a doctor to come for Cat?

More importantly, will I be able to find a doctor in the first place? I had no idea whatsoever where he might live. Perhaps Spot might know, but he had disappeared since we had heard the news. The others…

Well. The thing was, I wasn't sure whether they'd help me. I wasn't sure if they'd agree with the idea of finding a doctor. Brooklynites were oh so very proud, and I couldn't imagine them agreeing to begging for help, even if it was to save Cat. And did they really know where a doctor would be? They had no need of one; they used to have their own, right?

I paused, frowning. But that was stupid. Of course they'd do anything to help Cat. I was about to turn back around, cursing myself for wasting time, but then I stopped again.

If they did agree to help me, they'd want to come along. And…well, frankly, as uncomfortable as I was in negotiating with adults, the other would be downright awful. I could just see Pike or Jackal punching the doctor for refusing. I winced inwardly and went on. It would be best to go alone.

Then I stopped in my tracks, my eyes growing wide.

Unless…

I knew someone who wouldn't, like the others, end up soaking the doctor into helping Cat. Someone who'd be much better than I, in fact, in persuading him to come.

Philip. Philip Danford.

Did I dare? Did I dare ask it of him?

At this point, I couldn't afford to be afraid of his answer. I couldn't make gambles on Cat's life. If anyone, Philip would definitely be able to talk to an adult civilly and persuasively. Surely he would be able to succeed in where I or the others would not.

I set my jaw determinedly and narrowed my eyes. If I was to make this work, I had to take the whole thing step by step. First off: Find Philip. The second was to ask him to help me and it certainly was the worst part, but I decided not to think of it until I got there. Even if I did manage to think up some persuasive speech, I'd most probably forget it all anyway.

The rest ought to be easy. Well, not _easy_, but Philip would, I hoped, take it from there.

The streets of Brooklyn seemed strangely unfamiliar at this time of night, what with the flickering, dim lamps casting dark shadows everywhere and muddling my sense of direction. I began walking, casting aside my doubts. I vaguely remembered how to get there and I could do nothing but hope.

The narrow, maze of alleys didn't quite scare me as I continued on. Still, I tucked my hair inside my hat to pass off as a boy. Alleys were dangerous, especially at this time of the night. Any fool knows that and I wasn't going to be one by taking stupid risks.

I felt as though I was in a numb, surreal state, as though the fact that I was walking at night in Brooklyn was only a dream. Have you ever felt that sometimes? Like…have you ever gone outside when it's way past midnight and found the world changed? If you haven't, then you probably don't understand how I felt. But if you have…imagine that, yet with the pressures of knowing that someone's life was practically in your hands.

Terrifying, no?

No one stopped me as I walked along. This in itself, I marveled inwardly, was something of a miracle. Maybe I was being Helped. Indeed, I did feel oddly as though I was being pulled along by some unseen force in the direction of Queens. It was odd. A small part of me sneered and told me that I was being quite ridiculous. But the whole situation seemed truly bizarre and quite unreal.

Of course, everything snapped to reality when I found myself standing the exact same street where I had been just the other day. Another miracle, I told myself, and silently thanked whoever had helped me.

Perhaps it was you, dear reader. Maybe it was. Whoever is reading this, wherever you are…thank you.

…

Tche. Of course it wasn't you. I only wrote that to sound cool, like I've seen some people do in their books before.

Anyway, I paused in the middle of the completely different street, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Then I began tracing my steps of yesterday back to the Queens LH, when Skinny and Stocky had forced me to go. My brow furrowed with concentration, I headed down the street.

_That_ was where my luck ran out. I went one way and then another, knowing that I had no idea where I was going. Queens was completely unfamiliar to me, even more unfamiliar than Brooklyn's alleys. The fact that I had been busy trying to fight off S&S the last time I was here also added to my lack of direction. But I walked and walked and walked, not allowing myself to give up.

Five minutes later, it began to drizzle. Two minutes later, it was raining heavily and I was decidedly dejected. I scowled up at the sky and, not for the first time, wondered whether I ought to just give up and go back. Of course, I didn't. But I did seriously consider it, just for a split second. I stopped there at the sidewalk and exhaled heavily, leaning against a wet lamppost for a breather. I closed my eyes, telling myself that I'd have to get going, that I couldn't stay out here in the rain for too long…

Suddenly, a hand grasped my arm and jerked me forward.

My eyes flew open as I was pulled away from the light of the lamppost and pushed against the store wall with enough force to knock all the breath out of me. I cried out loud from both surprise and the sudden, tremendous pain, wincing as the sharp, uneven bricks buried into my back. I was shoved again, this time harder, and a strong arm pushed up against my neck, cutting off my air.

Naturally, I panicked. Who was this?? What did I _do_?! And most importantly, why was he trying to strangle me?

I flapped around pathetically and grabbed at the arm, making stupid, ineffective sounds of indignation and protest. Once I managed to start a scream, but he covered that up with his other hand. Black spots began appearing in my vision and I was seriously scared. I was going to _die_.

What an awful way to go; and without even seeing the face of my killer. I gritted my teeth and struggled one last time. All I managed to do was cause my hat to fall over and hit the wet ground with a soft _splat_. I barely noticed, because now my freed hair was in my face and it was _not _helping.

But suddenly, my dark attacker froze and made a startled sound. His pressure on my throat remained for only a second longer before easing off immediately. I coughed as life-giving air entered my lungs. He slowly stepped back and whispered disbelievingly, "_Ace?_"

Whoever he was, he sounded horrified. He swore vehemently under his breath and took my face with surprisingly gentle hands. I wasn't exactly aware enough to appreciate it though, because the world kept lurching.

For what seemed an eternity, I was too out of breath and stunned from the unexpected assault that my body refused to react. Maybe I blacked out or something. It was all kinda hazy. I thought I felt the evil attacker-suddenly-turned-to-good brush back my wet, tangled hair away from my face and repeat my name, but I wasn't sure.

However, when I _did_ manage to force my eyes open, all my reflexes, which had previously chosen to fall asleep, returned. Not immediately, of course. I groaned and moaned for a second. I muttered inaudible things. The guy shook me awake. Then my eyes sort of cleared and I saw him, just crouching there in front of me, his features still unrecognizable in the dark. I squawked in alarm and swung out wildly.

He easily caught my arm and asked sharply, "Are you alright?"

I froze and squinted in the darkness, trying to see him. His voice…I caught my breath. I knew this guy. The knowledge struck me speechless for a few seconds until I finally choked out hoarsely: "Philip?"

"Are you alright?" he repeated and I nodded, amazed at my unbelievably good luck. Or was it luck?

He seemed to let out a breath. Before I could speak though, he went all rigid and tense. He quickly stood up, dragging me up by the arm. "What are you _doing_ here?" he hissed exasperatedly, shaking me rather roughly. "Didn't you realize how dangerous it was from your last visit? And," he gritted out, "Don't even _try_ telling me that you got lost again."

My mouth dropped open with surprised indignation at his brusque manner. I must have looked like a shocked hippo. I shoved at him and sputtered with anger as it did no good. "Of all the…why, _you're _the one who tried to kill me!" I swallowed and massaged my throat, glowering at him and quite forgetting that I was here to ask him for help. "And," I tossed back my head and said icily, "Last time I _did _get lost."

He made a frustrated sound and turned away abruptly, letting me go as he moved towards the lamppost.

I continued to rub my injured throat, more than just mildly surprised that instead of pouring out apologies like I expected him to, he seemed almost upset with me. Why was he angry anyway? _I _was the one who was standing here with mud all over my pants and my throat feeling like some enormous person had pranced about on it.

What was he doing out here in the rain? Had he been waiting for someone?

The silence grew unbearable and I simply couldn't stand it. I looked down at my wet shoes, which were soaked right through to my toes. I moved them uncomfortably and then looked at Philip. "Why are you angry at me?"

He rested an arm against the lamppost, and roughly ran a hand through his hair irritably. "I'm not angry," he muttered and I scowled skeptically at his back. He looked down, still not turning around. I heard him sigh heavily before he threw me a sharp look over his shoulder and repeated, "Whatare you doing here?"

"Why did you strangle me?" I threw back, knowing we weren't getting anywhere by accusing each other, but I was still upset. I reached behind my back and carefully felt where he had bruised me, grimacing at the tight streaks of pain that shot through my body.

He turned around then and I caught my breath. His face was haggard and his dark eyes looked haunted and terrified. My angry words faltered in my throat.

"Ace," he said, his voice lower than usual, "I know what you're thinking. But, I don't know what I'd have done if…," to my horror, he stumbled over his words, "I mean, if…if you had…," he took in a deep breath and stared at me. I stared back as I finally realized he was upset because he was just as shaken as I was.

Or was it just that? Could it be that something else was upsetting him? What had happened since the last time we met?

The silence stretched on and all we could hear was the soft _pat pat _of the rain upon the cobbled sidewalks. He looked away and I shifted, my own anger beginning to fade away.

He looked away and then met my eyes again. "I am sorry, Ace."

Whatever was left of my irritation deflated with a _woosh_. However, in its place came questions. Who had he thought I was then? I remembered how frighteningly efficient he had been. It made me shiver. Now _that _was one way I did not ever want to die.

And I hadn't known…well, to be honest, I had no clue Philip had a ruthless side. Hmm. Suddenly, the thought of originally asking him for help didn't seem such a good idea.

I wavered.

Then I inwardly slapped myself. What was I doing? I had come this far. Cat's life was on the line. Our feelings at this moment didn't matter. We couldn't afford to waste time by distrusting each other or being awkward.

"It was a mistake. And I'm alright. Forget about it. It never happened," I forced a grin, "I guess we both scared each other, huh?"

Somehow my remark made him quirk a smile, but he didn't seem to relax one bit. He didn't reply or say anything, and instead remained silent, waiting for me to answer his repeated question. I took my advice then and decided to pretend it _had _never happened. Still, I had to resist the urge to duck my head to hide my reddening face when I stepped towards him into the rain.

"I was looking all…all," I sneezed abruptly and explosively at the sudden chill. He watched me through impassive eyes and I blushed as I finished sheepishly, "Ahem. All over for you."

He narrowed his eyes and his face darkened visibly. "Why? At 2 in the morning? And in the rain," he repeated, "Don't you realize how much danger you put yourself in?"

I peered up at him, a sinking feeling in my stomach. Once again, he seemed almost angry. With me? Or himself? Or both? I clenched my jaw determinedly. I wasn't going to give up. The real problem now was Cat, and _her _life was ticking away with every minute we wasted.

"Look," I said sharply, "I said forget about it. It was an accident. I'm fine, see? So stop it. You're making all of this very awkward."

The flinty look in his eyes didn't disappear. "All of what?" He still looked haggard and guilt-ridden-shocked-stunned, but I could see he was beginning to be suspicious. "Why are you here, Ace? Truly."

I tried to explain, but another sneeze burst out of me. He glanced around across the street and then exhaled sharply. "Listen," he said, "Let's get you inside. Then you can tell me what it's all about."

All I could do was sniffle and shake my head. "No," I refused earnestly, "I can't. I can't waste any more time. Listen…you mentioned Cat the other day, do you remember?"

His eyes narrowed even further and he nodded, his eyes still suspicious. "What about her?"

My words began tumbling out with no particular eloquence or order, just all a jumble of mixed emotions forming themselves into awkward sentences. I explained what had happened to her and what the problem was. I told him about how he was the only one I could think of who could help.

"You understand, don't you? And I don't know who else might be better at persuading the man to come, especially 'cos we don't have any money. The others will be terrible at it and I can't risk them ruining the chances for Cat, even if they don't mean it. Adults would listen to you and…and…," I trailed off before sneezing again. I wiped my face with my sleeve and looked at him. "Please, Philip. I don't know who else can help me here. I can't give up without even trying."

His face was so emotionless during my whole story that I almost wished for a bad reaction instead of this calculating, evaluating gaze. It was as though he was dissecting my words for any faults or traps. "What about Conlon?" he asked finally.

I shook my head again. "He's disappeared. I think he's gone to find Duke."

Philip raised his eyebrows and for the first time, he looked interested. "Duke?"

"Yeah…oh, it's a long story. Too long. But he's the one whose stabbed Cat."

"I see."

I was scared that he was going to say no. Terrified, in fact, and I had a nasty feeling I showed it. "Say you'll do it," I pleaded, "Do say you will. I know we aren't very good friends or anything and I know you've already done so much for me, but Cat's gonna die unless you help and-," I stopped abruptly at his prolonged silence. I bit my lip.

He wasn't going to do it.

Why should he, anyway? I thought, forcing myself to see it from his point of view. Unfortunately, I ended up seeing myself rambling on and on, and I soured, embarrassed and uncomfortable at how he just stood there without a reaction.

"Well. Well, at least," I muttered, trying to sound like I was being accepting instead of coldly disappointed. "At least tell me that you won't right now so I can get started on my own," "Like I said, I can't waste any time. Or…or any of yours."

To my surprise, he smiled in the rain. "Ace," he murmured, "When will you ever realize that you have never been a waste of my time?"

Thinking back, that remark should have knocked me off my feet by its implications. But at the moment, I was just trying to puzzle over what he meant. "Is that…is that a yes?" I asked breathlessly, both dreading and longing for the answer.

"It is," he said simply.

"Oh!" I threw my arms around him, beaming all over and grinning from ear to ear. "You are simply splendid, Philip. You really are."

He gave a surprised laugh. "Now that's something no one hasn't call me before…"

I stepped back and said mock-seriously, "Accept it. It's a noble adjective."

He quirked another smile, but didn't say anything other than an amused, "Alright." He walked over, picked up my hat from the ground, and handed it to me with a rather heart-stoppingly attractive smile. "Your life-saver."

"Yeah. Always is, isn't it?" I took it, but didn't put it on.

Well.

Philip didn't seem to want to waste any more time. Whether it was worry for Cat or to get back to that street to kill the _real_ guy, I didn't know and didn't really want to know. We started off immediately, at a breathless pace that had me in a half-run.

We were both rather silent. He did give me his cloak though and told me that when I got back, I had to change out of my clothes or I'd die of pneumonia. Actually, he offered to take care of the whole Cat business himself and that I could go back home. But I was having none of that.

It was barely ten minutes until we were standing in front of a nondescript house. It looked like any other house, except for the name at the door. Philip rung the bell purposely and I stole a sideways glance at him. His hair kept plastering itself to his forehead and from time to time he kept sweeping it back with his hand. Now though, he didn't seem to care. It was as though he was narrowing all his focus onto this one purpose.

He was one of those people, I mused, who, once they set their mind to it, would never veer off from their task. I knew then that I did the right thing. Cat was going to be okay.

Philip rang the bell again and stonily waited.

"Do you think they'll answer?" I asked tentatively, after a long moment passed.

Philip's mouth curved upwards into a satirical sort of smile and he looked down at me. "They will."

Then he began banging away at the door, ignoring the civilized bell this time. He looked almost as though he was trying to break his way inside the house. He started shouting, "Doctor O'Connell! We need to see you! Doctor O'Connell!"

I blinked with surprise at this sudden, violent method. Then I joined in, adding my voice to his and shrieking hoarsely, "Doctor O'Connell!"

Irish? I wondered vaguely. O'Connell. Sounds Irish. The 'O' part.

I think we woke up the entire neighborhood with our bellowing and banging before the door finally opened. The man standing before us looked seriously sleepy, but he managed to blear out, "What do you want?" His green eyes blinked out at us from behind glasses. "Who are you?"

I peered at him curiously. He didn't look at all like a doctor. In fact, he looked more of a mad scientist, with his brown hair all over the place and his enormous spectacles perched on top of his rather largish nose.

Philip calmly stuck out a hand. "Sir, I am sorry to wake you up at such an untimely hour, but I'm afraid we desperately need your help. My name is Philip Danford."

The mad scientist stared at the hand absently. He peered at Philip again and then took his hand in a brief, distrustful handshake. "Help? What sort of help?"

"Your medical skills, naturally," Philip swallowed and gestured to me, "My sister here has a friend who is terribly injured."

_Sister?!_

He continued on, "I'm afraid she's very close to death...You must come immediately. She has been stabbed, and we don't know what to do. Please aid us, sir."

The doctor drew back and smiled a rather sad smile. "I'd do anything to help anyone in need. But…but I'm afraid I simply cannot make it tonight. Maybe…maybe tomorrow morning."

"But sir-"

"I'm a generous man," he said vaguely, nodding at me and giving a little embarrassed laugh, "I'd do anything for children. Here," he disappeared for a moment, leaving us standing there dumbly. He came back quickly, with something in his hand. "This should help you."

He placed two dimes into Philip's hand and nodded, laughing that _infuriating _laugh again, "Now, come back tomorrow, hmm?" He yawned and began closing the door on us.

He wouldn't be here tomorrow morning. He'd make _sure _that he wouldn't be here.

Rage coursed through my veins. How could anyone be so heartless? How could anyone assume that we were so shallow as to leave them alone after a couple of dimes? And how could he just ignore the fact that there was someone dying? Or did he think we were lying? Just because…just because we were in a class lower than his or…because we were kids without money.

How cruel was that? How simply pathetic! He deserved to…to…why…

"Shame on you," I blurted out.

"Eh?" Doctor O'Connell stared at me, stopping in mid-chuckle.

Oops. Did I say that outloud? Philip closed his eyes for just a second, as if in despair.

"I…I said…," I stammered, and then I looked at the man's blank, absent face. There was no getting out of this. I gritted my teeth, "I said, 'Shame on you.'"

"Ace," Philip ground out.

"Your name…is Ace?"

"No," I cut him off, starting to get riled up at his condescending tone, "It isn't. It's Ashley Benette."

Philip's eyes widened. "It is?"

I ignored him. "That makes it all better, doesn't it? A real, 'civilized' name, don't you think? But you don't think at all about us, don't you?"

"I thought doctors are supposed to care about saving lives, no matter whose lives they are. But you…why, you're just pathetic. You're just a coward," I scoffed, "I know it's late, I know we can't possibly afford to pay you. And you think you can just make us leave you alone by…by….," Words failed me. I grabbed the coins from Philip and slung it back, glaring heatedly. "There. We don't need your old money."

"What she means is-"

"Shh," O'Connell said, his green eyes suddenly flickering with sharp interest.

I had been ready to go on riling at him, but his interest suddenly made me stop. I shook my head. "Actually, we will pay you with all we have. You know that."

"No…," he peered at the two of us, that sharpness in his eyes disappearing again. "I'm afraid you already did pay me."

"Don't be absurd," I snapped, irritated. "Don't be idiotic and say that I made you 'see the light.' We'll pay you. Just come." Then I did a double take. "What? You…you are coming?"

He didn't smile or look thoughtful or anything. He just looked as vague as ever. "An interesting child…quite interesting."

He leaned down and took the dimes I had thrown back. "This should be enough."

Then he shuffled back into the house.

I exchanged nervous glances with Philip. Was this Mad Scientist a little…er…cuckoo? Or was he serious? Could he be serious? Did I make him change his mind? But he didn't seem embarrassed or amused or thoughtful or anything. He just looked as absent-minded and vague as ever.

"He _is _a doctor, isn't he?" I whispered to Philip.

"Of course. Only doctors are gullible enough to believe that you're my sister."

I choked back a laugh. "You're terrible. I thought doctors are smart."

"Not this one."

Then he said, "Looks like you didn't need me after all."

"That's not true. You brought me here."

"Hmm."

A pause.

"Thanks, Philip. For everything," I grinned impishly, "Except for strangling me."

He laughed. At least it was beginning to become a joke now.

O'Connell came back, dressed and carrying a large black bag. He still didn't look like a doctor.

But he was coming. I still couldn't believe it. It was only when we started off when I realized he actually _was _serious. It was just he…he had changed his mind so fast. Maybe I woke up him properly with that little talk. Whatever it was, I was sure it couldn't have been that thing about money.

Philip left us after we reached Brooklyn. I knew why, but he told the Doctor that he was going to go inform Cat's family. It made sense, I suppose. I uncomfortably led the man down the dark streets of Brooklyn, aware of his labored breathing and his silence. I didn't like him and I suppose he didn't like me either. I saw him glancing at my bruised neck from time to time, but he said nothing. I was glad.

When we reached the LH, I woke everyone up by bellowing, "There's a doctor here to see to Cat!"

And everyone did wake up. Some of them stared suspiciously at him, but most of them thanked him profusely. O'Connell murmured 'Your welcomes' and 'My pleasures' and then with that sudden sharpness I had seen before, sent everyone out of the room Cat was in.

I was up all night. We all were. Meantime, they asked me how I managed to get him to come. Did I bribe him? Did I have a stash of money hidden somewhere? Did I threaten him? How had I found him? What on earth had happened to your _neck_?!

I gloriously took all the credit and concocted a story about 'encountering a drunkard', 'knocking him unconscious', 'following my instincts', 'firmness of mind', and 'looking at him directly in the eye.' Tee hee.

The only thing was…Spot still wasn't here.

* * *

_August 11, 1899_

_Dear Journal,_

_I'm so tired…I could just fall asleep right now. But I won't. I've got to write this down._

_I've decided that people like O'Connell aren't all that bad. They like to slither out of things, but when they __**don't**__, they do their job well. They just don't notice the importance of things sometime. This time, thankfully, O'Connell did._

_Cat woke up once and was aware of the fact that I was staring at her. She gave me a puzzled, sarcastic look before falling back asleep. Yeah, well, she wasn't a talkative person._

A sort of warmth swept over me as I looked over at Cat. Her fever had cooled down and she was breathing easier now. She was going to be alright. _She was going to be alright._

And I had helped her, with Philip's help. What a night! A swell of pride filled me and I turning back to my journal.

_Cat survived the night. O'Connell said if she does, she'll be fine._

_I guess he __**was **__a doctor after all, and not a mad scientist. _

_I wonder who Philip thought I was when he tried to strangle me._

_I wonder when Spot's going to come back. _

_I wonder if Philip is coming to the dinner. _

_I wonder if Spot found Duke. _

* * *

**Author's Note: **The hardest part in this chapter to write was figuring out the character for O'Connell. I was going to make him a vehement, nasty sort. Then I figured that's too typical. Then I was going to make him a kind guy. But then that just didn't fit. So he ended up becoming an irresponsible, slither-outing (Howl's Moving Castle term. Lol.) coward.

By the way, this chappie has a lot of hints. :D

Do review!


	7. House of Cards

**The Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note: **Tee hee. Hello.Um, okay. Hehe. Hi. Long time no see…I would say I'm very sorry for not updating for so long, but I can't, because I personally think I had a good reason! What reason, you say? Um.

Well, this chapter was REALLY HARD. I had like a whole ten pages of re-writes and re-re-writes. I simply couldn't get any of it right…and I'm still not happy with it now either. But I just thought: Ah, whatever. I forced an ending to it. And since it's been such a long time since the last update, I'll put a recap, see? Btw, Ace is in a bad mood in this chapter, so watch out.

OH, and check out my profile. There's a face to Philip Danford now. Remember that kid in Air Bud? Kevin Zegers? Yeah, that's him! Tell me what you THINK! And remember Verge? The blonde, sullen newsie from Harlem? I found a guy for his character too; he seems to have made it to one of the likeable semi-characters, and I like him as well, so I think I'll be using him later on.

The links are in my profile as usual, so click over if you wanna see.

And since we're talking about faces to characters, I'm making a character list in my profile. For those whose characters are being used in my story, (Artemis, Pike, Jackal, Cat, whatnot), I would like to put them up too! So if you can, could you tell me what guy/girl you want as your character and I'll put them up to the list. If possible that is, I know how hard it is to find a real human being to represent a fictitious character.

Well, then. Enough with me blabbering.

On With the Chapter!

_**Disclaimer:**_ Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

* * *

**Recap:**

_Dear Journal,_

_I'm so tired…I could just fall asleep right now. But I won't. I've got to write this down._

_I've decided that people like O'Connell aren't all that bad. They like to slither out of things, but when they __**don't**__, they do their job well. They just don't notice the importance of things sometime. This time, thankfully, O'Connell did._

_Cat woke up once and was aware of the fact that I was staring at her. She gave me a puzzled, sarcastic look before falling back asleep. Yeah, well, she wasn't a talkative person._

A sort of warmth swept over me as I looked over at Cat. Her fever had cooled down and she was breathing easier now. She was going to be alright. _She was going to be alright._

And I had helped her, with Philip's help. What a night! A swell of pride filled me and I turning back to my journal.

_Cat survived the night. O'Connell said if she does, she'll be fine._

_I guess he __**was **__a doctor after all, and not a mad scientist. _

_I wonder who Philip thought I was when he tried to strangle me._

_I wonder when Spot's going to come back. _

_I wonder if Philip is coming to the dinner. _

_I wonder if Spot found Duke. _

_I wonder if he's alright.

* * *

_He knew who he was even before he saw his face. It was the stance that what was most familiar: hands clasped behind him, head held up high at an imperious tilt, shoulders straight and back. Spot had always thought it was as though he considered himself some sort of royalty. As though he was better than everyone and the world ought to know of it.

And yet, wasn't that was everyone thought Spot himself was like?

He watched his former friend a moment longer, vaguely disconcerted with this thought. He frowned. _Concentrate_. _This is no time to lose focus. _

He was tempted to just rush Duke from behind and finish him off. He was angry enough, and bitter enough. However, considering Duke was his former second-in-command, he would probably be prepared for something of the sort. So Spot settled for tapping his gold-topped cane on the ground before him and leaning on it languidly, making his presence known.

"Just in time," remarked the other, without bothering to turn around. "I knew you'd come sooner or later."

There was something in the way his former friend said those words that actually stung Spot's pride. He was insinuating that Spot was here because he was _summoned_. As though Duke had spun the situation into his own hands and knew Spot would have to come. As though he had come crawling on his hands and knees to his former friend. Like a subject to his king…

Maybe he shouldn't have come.

But one of his Brooklynites was dying. He was not going to let an outright slap in the face like that get by.

Duke turned then, as though he had sensed Spot's discomfort. The faint light from the lamppost next to him cast shadows upon his features, but his face was now visible. It was a face Spot had become used to loathing.

For the first time in a long while, Spot found himself dangerously close to losing his self control. He struggled to regain himself, but to his dismay, found himself slipping as anger threatened to engulf him. A wave of bitter memories rose up against him and he remembered all too clearly how hard Duke's betrayal hurt. This was too personal, too painful a memory to be able to maintain his usual calm.

He knew everyone thought he was completely impenetrable and invulnerable. He wanted them to think so. But it wasn't always true. Duke had been one of his closest and most trusted friends. He had turned right around and stabbed Spot in the back. And the wound was still store.

"You've changed," Duke smiled thinly, but Spot noticed that it seemed forced, "Grown taller, for one thing."

Again, that condescending tone, but the insult was cheap. It was a clumsy attempt to get a rise out of him and in a flash, Spot recognized it for what it was. He recovered from his momentary weakness and his mind cleared as he drew inner strength from the knowledge that Duke was as affected by his presence as he was. He smiled agreeably at Duke and eased his tight grip on his cane. "You, on da other hand, ain't changed at all."

Duke reacted slightly, which surprised Spot. Then he smiled in a faint, amused manner, as though he were remembering a fond memory. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that," he replied, his familiar dark eyes revealing his humor, "Someone told me that people change."

Spot was puzzled by his reaction, but he said smoothly, "You'll never change, Duke. People like you don't change."

The trace of humor in Duke's eyes disappeared like a candle snuffed out of its light. He folded his arms across his chest and eyed Spot, who stonily returned the gaze.

_So this is how it's gonna be…_

For a brief moment, both of them watched each other warily, trying to penetrate and read the other's thoughts. Both failed.

That had always been the problem, Spot mused as he silently returned Duke's stare. No, not that they couldn't read each other's thoughts. The fact they always tried to. The fact that they were much too alike. They were both born leaders. Brooklyn had always been too small a place to hold the two of them.

Perhaps, if he had been in Duke's place, he might have done the same and…

No.

He wouldn't have. He wouldn't have betrayed a good friend for territory. There was a line, and Duke had crossed it.

He stopped leaning on his cane and straightened, swinging it back and forth in a bored manner. "So why Queens of all places?" Spot raised an eyebrow and looked around. "Way too predictable, Duke."

"It's a good place to lose yourself in. And a good place to be found."

"Danford knows you're here?"

Duke's eyes focused sharply on Spot for a second and then again, flashed darkly with humor. "Danford…Philip Danford?" At Spot's silence, Duke's lips tugged upwards and he then gave a short, cynical laugh. "He's a fool. The boy has no idea about what's going on in his own borough."

Spot's eyes followed Duke's hands watchfully, trying to discern where he had hidden those knives of his. He still remembered how fast he was with the blades. The point was to have an idea from which point they'd come. They'd be in wrist sheathes, probably. Duke had always liked the wrist sheathes. Or perhaps strapped to his shoulders. Throwing knives there, usually.

"You received my message, I suppose? It was a bit dramatic perhaps, but I should think it got your attention…because here you are."

Spot glanced at him with alarming calmness. "_Message_?" he echoed. Then he grew serious, and his eyes narrowed dangerously, ""Cut da act, Duke," he said lowly. "You stabbed her. Dat's low, even for you."

"You worry too much. That's your problem."

"Is it?"

"You shouldn't have sent her."

"You shouldn't have come back."

Duke laughed outloud. "Still thinking it was my fault you lost all those Brooklynites? Still blaming everyone but yourself, aren't you?"

Spot murmured, "Don't be a fool, Duke. Dis is one story dat ain't got two sides."

Duke raised his eyebrows, but only remarked, "She alright?"

Spot was startled despite himself. "What?"

"Is she alright?"

"_You stabbed her_."

"She hated me. The only one who hated me."

"Must have felt good den, huh?"

Duke frowned, pressing his lips together. "Not really," his voice grew quiet, "I'm telling the truth this time, Conlon. I didn't want to do it. I didn't enjoy it."

Spot narrowed his eyes at the sincerity in Duke's voice. "What are you talkin' 'bout?" Spot scoffed, "What, you had a change of heart since our last encounter?"

There was a queer silence. Spot felt a jolt somewhere inside as Duke seemed to search for words. Surely not. Surely Duke was not trying to tell him that he had _changed_. Even he couldn't be that…hypocritical.

Then Duke's dark eyes slid over to Spot's grey, an odd smile playing around his lips. "You misunderstand me. You know what I meant: I dislike having to involve other people. It complicates things."

C_omplicates things?_

Spot clenched his fist, but somehow he felt relieved. This was the Duke he was familiar with. The other boy, either not noticing the danger signs or simply ignoring them, continued on, "I have to admit though, Cat is a splendid fighter. She left a couple of scratches...," he grimaced, but then grew serious again, "Like I said. I didn't want to hurt her. Give her my regards."

"You know what's funny, Duke," Spot gritted out, "It's how you're being all high up there and saying how you hated stabbing her. As if you had no choice."

"I didn't," Duke said in mock-surprise. "She was trying to kill _me_."

With a sudden surge of anger and strength, Spot grabbed Duke by the front of his shirt and slammed him backwards against the wall with controlled rage, taking satisfaction from the grunt of pain the other boy gave. "You filthy liar," Spot snarled icily, "You filthy, dirty liar! Cat's _dying_. She's dying, do you hear? And all 'cos of you!"

He drew back his fist and drove it at Duke's face with precise strength, but Duke's reflexes were fast. He blocked the punch swiftly, but instead of fighting back, he shoved Spot forcibly away from him. His dark eyes flashing with anger at having been taken by surprise, Duke's left hand disappeared to his back pocket with incredible speed.

Spot quickly regained his balance and out of reflex, grasped both ends of his cane with each hand in a defensive stance. He stepped backwards, knowing from experience what would be in Duke's hand when it reappeared again.

The two of them glared at each other with barely bridled hatred. Both tempers were frayed and close to snapping; a complete change from the previous unnatural calm. For a moment, it looked as though they were going to spring for each other's throats.

Then Duke sneered and his hand returned empty. "You forget, _Conlon_," he spat out the name as though it was a curse, "You forget that you're here because _I _wanted you here. I _allowed _you to find me. And you came, like the predictable fool you are. Now, are you ready to listen to what I have to say?"

Spot sneered right back, "And you forget dat you ain't holding anything over me. I can leave at any moment. I can even kill you right now and get it all over and done with."

This time, a knife materialized into Duke's hand from apparently nowhere. "You aren't exactly in the position to talk about killing people," he said icily, "I suggest you listen."

Spot tensed again, tightening his grip on his cane. Then his grip loosened as he realized what he meant. "We're not alone, are we?"

Duke smirked. "Ah, he finally understands."

Well, it wasn't as though he hadn't expected it. What mattered now was whether his gamble on Duke's pride would be right or not. Spot didn't think he'd kill him here, with no one to witness it. Duke would want him humiliated the way he had been: in front of his newsies and those who respected him.

Spot glanced around once, surreptitiously taking note of where Duke's thugs might be hiding. He then fell silent for a second longer, feigning indecision.

"Alright," he finally said and slung his cane through his belt loop. "Talk."

Duke crossed his arms and twirled his knife deftly among his fingers. "Well. First of all, I want to get this clear: I don't want Brooklyn."

Spot felt a flash of surprise but he remained impassive. "Get to da point."

Duke stared at him coldly. "I want _you_ dead, Conlon. It's taking a lot of me to not slice you open now," his grip on the knife tightened, but then he merely flipped it, "But I won't."

"Because you don't like hurtin' people, right?" Spot laughed mockingly, "Or am I makin' a mistake?"

Duke grew very still. "You don't count, Conlon. Why should I spare you? You pride yourself on being heartless to yourself and to others. Isn't that right? So why should anyone treat _you _any different?"

Spot looked at his former friend with distaste. "You always enjoyed justifyin' yourself. As if you had a conscience to worry 'bout."

"And you do?" Duke scoffed, "I know you too well, Spot. If you had a choice between Brooklyn and the lives of one of them girls you have from time to time, we both know which you'll pick," he smiled thinly, "It's not like it hasn't happened before."

Spot chuckled humorlessly. "You keep accusin' me of stuff you do all da time. Yoah losin' my interest, Duke. What is it you want?"

Duke's features darkened. "For now...I want you to get back to Brooklyn. And make sure none of your newsies come after me, because I swear," his dark eyes grew flinty, "I'll do what I have to do."

Spot smirked. "You can try."

Duke's eyes hardened even more. "This isn't a joke, Spot."

Spot gave Duke a scornful look and met his eyes fully. "I ain't laughing, _Duke," _he stepped closer and Duke flicked his knife up warningly. Spot ignored it and continued in an eerily quiet voice, "And here's something else for you: Unless you wanna get what you got before, _you_ better get yourself out of here. I ain't gonna change my mind. Brooklyn don't want you."

Duke glared. Spot stepped back and surveyed him impassively. "So you best back down."

Without another word, he turned briskly around and walked away in long, firm strides. Outwardly, he looked calm and relaxed. But inside he was alert and ready, his shoulder blades sensing Duke's eyes on him. He heard him swear and glanced back to see him walking in the other direction.

Spot did not try to follow him. He merely turned his feet towards Brooklyn, feeling suddenly very tired. This time Duke had won. One of his own had gotten hurt. And not only hurt, Cat was dying.

He should have known better than to wait for Duke to make the first move. By refusing to see the real threat in his enemy's return, he had risked lives. He should have acted immediately.

He paused, taking a deep breath as he forced his mind to stop berating himself. There was nothing he could do now, except be prepared for anything. Duke wouldn't stay in Queens since he now had been found…there was no telling where he would turn up next.

Or what he'd do.

* * *

Cat. 

Was.

Scaring.

Me.

She and I were the only ones in the Lodging House now; everyone had gone off selling papes. I think they all assumed that I was now Cat's official nurse, so they made me stay. And here I was, trying to help her, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

I guess she was making me a little nervous.

She woke up ten minutes ago and she immediately demanded to know where Spot was. I told her I didn't know, and asked her whether she was alright. She blinked and shrugged. She seemed a lot better than she was last night, and I told her so, cheerily.

She didn't answer.

I looked around the room rather desperately, feeling her eyes on me. Then I looked at her. She stayed silent for a minute longer and then spoke. "They dump you here to look after me?"

I nodded. "Yes. What do you want me to do?"

It seemed a silly question, and one that I ought to know and not she, but Cat took it seriously. "Water?"

"Sure."

So I gave her water and she surprised me by thanking me quite decently. Then her almond-shaped eyes focused on me. "Tell me what happened."

"Er?"

"I was dying," she said matter-of-factly. "How am I alive right now?"

I told my story. Somehow it was rather hard to leave out the parts with Philip than it was yesterday. She just watched me quietly the whole time, as though she was picking apart my explanation bit by bit. When I finished, I felt strangely exhausted, as though I had been physically straining the whole time.

"Doctor O'Connell?" she asked finally at the end.

"Yes."

She fell silent for another moment. Then she flicked a look at me and sat herself up with her elbows. I was surprised she had the strength. Her eyes had an odd sort of intensity in them when she said, "He's the doctor in Queens."

"That's right," I said, surprised. "You know him?"

"How'd you find him?"

I shrugged in my most nonchalant manner. "I looked."

Her eyebrows rose expressively. "Why did you go to Queens? Why go all the way there?"

I felt a sudden surge of annoyance at her suspicion. I had saved her life. Why was she questioning me? Or was _I _the prick for pretending to take all the credit? Some of my irritation must have shown on my face, because she let herself fall back on the bunk with a hiss of pain, closing her eyes. Or maybe she was just tired.

I opened my mouth to concoct another lie that I looked in Queens first because I knew it better, as I lived there before (well, this part was true). Then somehow my words sort of shriveled in my throat when she opened her eyes again.

"Thank you," she said again, seriously.

I shrugged. "No problem."

She fell asleep again, just like that. I sat there, feeling extraordinarily _queer_. I wandered around the room and then sat down on the bed, absently rubbing the bruises Philip had left on my neck. I sighed and fell back on my bunk, trying to figure out the mess in my head.

Hiding what Philip did for me did seem a little strange. What on earth did I have to hide? Philip was a friend, wasn't he? And just because he wasn't friends with everyone else doesn't mean that he shouldn't be with me. So why not talk about him?

_Oh_, really. _Why_ was I being bothered about all this? Why was I even thinking about this? Of _course_ I couldn't talk about Philip Danford.

The whole Queens vs Brooklyn thing, for example. Although Brooklyn didn't seem to have anything against Queens, there was still some unavoidable friction. They'd dislike the fact that I was fast becoming good friends with its leader. Disloyalty or some other rubbish.

And then there was the bigger reason: The moment they clap eyes on him, they'd instantly assume that I was cheating on Spot. I scowled at the air. That was _sure_ to happen. Someone who looked as attractive as Philip; they'd instantly assume him to be the stranger who 'stole my heart' or some other rubbish.

And anyway, it was too late now. They'd ask me why I had kept him a secret in the first place, and then they'd go off and say:

"_Oooh_, because you two are _together_! Let's tell Spot, so he'll go all explosive and possessive and condemn you both to some hellish pit down in South Africa."

But, I firmly told myself, I _had _told Spot about Philip, some time ago. He said he hadn't met him, but had heard of him. So he wasn't exactly a secret. Spot knew about him.

Except, he probably thinks I haven't seen him since.

I felt vaguely annoyed with myself. Why was I worried about this? I hadn't done anything wrong.

Ace, you are an idiot.

I determinedly set my chin. What I needed now, I told myself firmly, was to see Spot. I was being all edgy because I was worried about him. That was all. I was sure he had gone to Queens.

And you know…about that…

_Why _did he leave us last night? It hadn't seemed important then, because I had figured he just couldn't handle one of his newsies hurt. I had even felt sorry for him. But now, I felt an ugly taste of bitterness somewhere inside. Why had he left? Of all the times to just _leave_. It was as though he had abandoned us – abandoned _me_ -, by leaving us at such a crucial moment. Cat's life had been hanging by a thread. Why didn't he stay with us?

If he had been there, I wouldn't have had to go to Philip for help. He wouldn't have throttled me. If he had been with us, we could have settled this whole thing much faster and smoother.

Slowly, my nasty feelings grew. I told myself firmly that I needed to stop thinking so negatively.

"If," I muttered, "He has gone and got himself killed, I shall take him to that pit in South Africa myself."

Heh.

Well, the morning passed rather uneventfully. I was in a thoroughly rotten mood, and therefore, a rotten nurse. Cat woke up eventually because I crashed into a bunch of books Artemis had conveniently placed right behind the door of the washroom. I apologized and she rather coolly forgave me. I changed her bandages and made her drink plenty of water. And all the while cheerily trying to make hercheery. This is hard, especially when _you_ are only pretending to be cheery and the other can tell.

I can _see_ why Cat is one of the Difficult Brooklynites.

She's not outrightly unfriendly. She's not even rude. She just treats me, as she treats all the other Brooklynites, as a polite acquaintance. I suppose this was what was nagging at me. Never had I dealt with anyone who simply wouldn't _relax_. In a sense, it was a sort of snobbishness, wasn't it?

She's just so…well, it's like she's serenely assessing you all the time, and in a way that you can _tell_, so you just sit or stand there feeling a fool. It's just like Spot sometimes, except Cat's perpetually doing it, while Spot only does it when he thinks you're being an irritating bug.

We kept halting in our awkward conversation. We were just stumbling on, as if we both were trying to make each other happy by talking. How ridiculous. I thought about giving up and going to my bed because I simply couldn't see the point of all this. I was just about to do so and pretend to fall asleep when, to my surprise, I had an absurd revelation.

She was _embarrassed_. She was embarrassed about getting herself so hurt. She was embarrassed about having to be taken care of like this. She was embarrassed about failing Spot, which, I realized, she really, truly believed she did. And, she was extremely embarrassed about the fact that _I_, of all people, had been the one who had more or less saved her life.

Well, I suppose that was understandable.

At any rate, I found myself relaxing a bit after that. I even ventured to ask her: "Did Duke say anything before he tried to kill you?"

She flicked me a Look. And what a Look! Nasty awkwardness returned again. Then she said: "Funny you should ask."

"Erm?"

"It wasn't really like that," she said distantly, as though she was trying very hard to wish herself away from me, "He didn't try to kill me. I confronted him and he said…lots of things. He didn't try to kill me."

Immense shock. "What?"

"You thought he ambushed me and struck me down on the spot?"

I had. But I didn't want to admit to it, so I kept quiet.

"I was following him," she began, and I listened carefully because this would be the first time I heard what had really happened, "And he caught me. Yeah…I thought he was going to kill me right den and dere."

"Why didn't he?"

She shrugged. "Duke never did things like dat. He wasn't keen on the whole jumping people and stabbing them thing. He was more interested in playin' with people's feelings and twistin' dem around so dat dey did things he wanted dem to."

She sounded bitter. As if she had been one of those people. But then, weren't they all? Even Spot; he had gone off after Duke, just like Duke wanted him to.

She had fallen silent, as though she were remembering. I respectfully stayed quiet as well, until my curiosity finally got the better of me, as it always does. "So," I prodded, "What did you say?"

She sighed. "I told him what he was thinking, coming back to Brooklyn. He said he wasn't finished with any of us yet and that he wanted Spot beaten, humiliated. And then…"

I shivered. "What?"

She suddenly lifted her head and stared straight at me. "He told me to congratulate Spot on his most recent girlfriend," I boggled at her. She didn't look away, although I must have looked ridiculous, "He knew your name, Ace. He knew exactly who you are. And he told me dat Spot should value you for as long as possible, because it _wasn't _going to be long."

I felt as though hot water had been poured all over me. "What?" I whispered, feeling fear creep up my spine. I suddenly felt vulnerable and scared and…_watched_. I hadn't even seen Duke before. How could he know me? And what was that about Spot not having me much longer? Did this awful Duke plan to kill me?

Cat seemed to feel sorry for me, because she moved on swiftly, "Then he asked me whether _I _was still with that 'ridiculous oaf with da eye-patch,'" she tried to shrug, but only managed to move one shoulder, "I lost my temper, which he was expecting anyway. I tried to murder him. He fought back. He won."

I wasn't really listening by now. Duke _knew _me? How? Spies, my mind reeled wildly. It must have been spies. But then who? Could be anyone. Then why? _Why?_

"Before…," Cat supplied helpfully, as though she had read my mind, "Duke managed to steal Spot's girl. Didn't exactly break his heart, but Duke made him look bad in front of the others."

I could see where she was going with all this. I gave her a narrowed stare, not liking what she was trying to say.

She paused and looked at me. Then she went on, "Duke probably means to do the same with you. So you better watch out, Ace. Don't let our leader down. He trusts you and you-"

"Oh _shut up_," I rose up irritably, snarling (okay, I snarled at an injured, bed-ridden girl), "Just _shut up_. I _won't _do anything of the sort. I _love_ Spot. You think I'm just gonna go off with some murdering maniac, who did _this _to you and even worse to others? You may think I'm ridiculous or ignorant or stupid, but I am _not _that shallow. Or that disloyal. So don't you think that I am. Don't you _dare_."

I suppose naturally this sort of speech is supposed to result with Cat staring at me in awed silence, with large astonished eyes or something like that. Instead, she flicked those bland, grey eyes at me in a sort of alarmed boredom. _Alarmed boredom_. As if she was scared of the prospect of having to listen to oh-so-loud Ace bellowing more dull things at her.

Peeved, I shut my mouth with a snap and sat down in my chair, feeling annoyed again. Oh really. This was ridiculous. We should be good friends by now. _Why _was she being so difficult? Or was I the one being difficult?

Minutes passed on. We weren't speaking to each other. Well, actually, it was I who wasn't speaking to her. She didn't seem to notice and/or care about the fact that she had just offended me by insinuating that I would fall in love with Duke so easily.

He knew about me. He _knew_. He knew my name, he knew that I was with Spot. Again, I felt that awful feeling of being watched, and I hated it. I felt…_used_, somehow, as though someone had violated my privacy. Who could have told Duke? Or had he found it out himself? Had he actually _seen _me? Seen me and added me into his plans? This must be it. Either that or I have someone who disliked me enough to tell Duke who-

_Oh_.

I felt my face blanch and for a second I felt dizzy, floored by my realization. I had completely forgotten about the one person who…who had hated my guts, truly hated me, and swore he'd make me pay for…well, actually, I never really got why he disliked me so. Spot and I both _knew _he would side with Duke. It wasn't that surprising really. He had done it before. But how on earth could I have forgotten him?

You know who I'm talking 'bout right? Of course you do.

Fire.

True, I hadn't seen him for weeks now. Ever since Spot had told him to get out Brooklyn, he had disappeared. I had been happy, although a bit uneasy about how easily he had taken his 'banishment.' And now, I knew why. He must have told Duke everything. So, like Spot had to deal with Duke, I would now have to deal with Fire. I felt like screaming with frustration. Whydid Fire have to come in again?? Honestly! And then this Duke guy, who knew all about me and planned to _use _me against Spot.

Gah!

This whole thing _stinks_.

* * *

"Hey, darlin'. Wake up." 

Pause.

"Wake up. _C'mon_, Ace."

I blearily rolled over, irritated at the voice that kept persisting and bothering my sleep. Not that I was having any pleasant dreams, but I was dead tired. For a second, there was blissful silence and I slowly fell back to sleep again. Then something brushed against my forehead and a hand touched my shoulder. "Ace? Ashley?"

I groaned once and the hand persisted to touch my cheek. It was a gentle touch, but I reacted viciously, smacking my hand out in annoyance.

"_Ow!_"

My eyes cracked open and I blinked dazedly at the sight of an adorably attractive guy grabbing at his nose and swearing colorfully. I watched stupidly, still half-asleep and not comprehending what was going on. Then I realized what I had hit was _him_, and that _he _had come back, and that _he _was Spot, and _I _had been asleep. I stared at him, mixed feelings rising in me, and I rubbed at my eyes.

"You're back," I said, numbly. I didn't really know how I felt right now. All my old feelings came back, crowding into me and putting me in a thoroughly unforgiving manner. I remembered again how he had just left us - when we needed him the most- and it seemed as though now he had come crawling back.

Oh, what is wrong with me? Am I going on another emotional rollercoaster ride, like before?

Spot rubbed at his nose and said wryly, "Yeah."

I got up and looked at him. He just looked back and remarked, "You look tired."

I laughed, and the laugh didn't sound like it was mine. "No kidding," I said.

His eyes hardened, as if he found my behavior disturbing. (Yeah. That's me. Ace the Disturbed.) He glanced at Cat, who was still sleeping. "Let's get out."

We simultaneously crept out of the room and slipped downstairs where we could talk without fear of waking her. Then he turned and I narrowly looked him over. He didn't seem hurt or angry or depressed or moody or whatever. In fact, he seemed suspiciously light-hearted. What on earth? He abruptly grinned down at me, all charm.

He had been up to something; I could tell. I stared steadily through the charm and said very coolly, "You certainly took your time. Where've you been?"

His eyes seemed very much amused, and although I subconsciously admired their color and depth, I was still grouchy.

"Ace," he murmured, taking my hat teasingly, "Always smart, eh?"

I snatched the hat back. "Yes, I know. Where were you?"

He shrugged, still smiling oddly. "Around."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Who?"

"Duke."

"Ah. No; he didn't."

"_You found him_?"

He shrugged again and drew me closer, almost absently saying, "Wasn't hard, really. He wanted to be found. Why else do you think he hurt Cat?"

I paused, digesting this information. "Then…," I mulled it over, frowning and chewing at my lip. Then I saw the look on his face and scowled. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Nah."

"Heh, well, at least-," I stopped short of an insult and my eyes widened, then narrowed. "You mean you _knew _that it was a trap?"

"'Course, Ace. Don't insult me intelligence."

I pulled away and tried not to glower at him, but I failed miserably. I didn't _want _to be angry at him; I didn't want to argue. But words were already pushing themselves up to my throat, and I swallowed, knowing that this whole pathetic situation was going to end badly in tears or something worse.

His expression turned from amused to slightly concerned. "What?"

"Nothing. I don't-"

"What. Is. It."

I glared at him. Then burst out unpleasantly, "_Why _did you go?!"

All of my strained tiredness, all my feelings of fear and desperation that had been raging inside of me throughout the entire, terrible night before, my frustration towards her coldness to me, the violence displayed towards her, the knowledge that Fire was still out there…oh, I was aimlessly furious!

His lips parted slightly in surprise and his eyes widened. "Ace-"

"Why did you leave just when we needed you?"

He blinked again, properly startled, and then his grey eyes grew shielded. "What do you mean?"

I went on angrily, horrified as my eyes began to prick, "Cat was about to _die_ and _you_…well, you just went flying off. So you were upset; but we all were. That's what I call selfishness, Spot," I could scarcely believe what I was saying, but I didn't stop, "Duke could have killed you too. Then where would we be? And Cat! If it weren't for Phi-," I cut myself off sharply and nearly bit down onto my tongue. "I mean, if you had been there, I'd wouldn't have had to go around searching all night for a doctor."

"If it weren't for who?" Spot inquired mildly, his eyes impossible to read. He didn't seem upset or angry or _sorry_. Those impossible eyes were merely calm and assessing as they watched me. It was a familiar look, and my mind wearily told me to stop.

I shook my head, suddenly feeling very, very tired. "Whatever, Spot."

I was afraid he would pursue the question, but instead he asked, "So you think I was a coward for leavin' you all?"

"N-o," I said helplessly, caught off guard by his forthrightness. "Not a coward."

His mouth tightened; his first display of emotion. "Den what?"

"I'm not calling you anything. I'm telling you that what you did was wrong; leaving us in a ditch with Cat while you went off to satisfy your own feelings about taking revenge on Duke! And…oh, I just _hate _this."

"Hate what?"

I gestured weakly, rubbing at my eyes, "I dunno. I just hate this. Hate, hate, hate-"

The LH door suddenly swung open with a loud creak. We both turned around rather guiltily. A tall, brown-haired boy stood there in the doorway, his entire body practically sagging, as if he had been running for a very long time. I didn't recognize him until he looked up, breathing hard.

"Hey hey, Kid," said Spot with no visible display of surprise. As if nothing was happening. It made me bristle.

"Came da moment I heard." As tired as he must have been, Kid Blink's one blue eye was alert and aware as he looked curiously from me and Spot and despite the dire circumstances, his mouth twitched slightly as if he were about to grin a little. Typical. Nothing ever gets him down; I have never seen him without a smile or a laugh on his face.

"Were you yelling at Spot?" he asked. I gritted my teeth and frowned at him in a grave, ugly way.

"Yes," Spot replied dryly, and threw me a swift look that made me flinch. "I don't know if it's me she's angry at though."

I cut in stonily, "Of course it's you."

"Hmm."

I whirled on Kid and snapped, "Cat's doing fine," I added pointedly, "She's sleeping upstairs."

Kid Blink's grin burst out, making his face light up with boyish relief. "Thanks, Ace," he added cheekily, "An' I'll take dat as a hint to leave you two alone."

Spot growled, "Why don't you step to it, den."

Kid chuckled and then ran lightly past us to race up the stairs. It was only after we both saw him disappear into Cat's room when Spot turned to me again. There was an uncomfortable silence as he seemed to wait for me to say something. I felt slightly calmer, or maybe it was simply that I didn't feel like arguing anymore. But I was still upset.

"You shouldn't have gone, Spot," I said pointlessly again, relieved that my voice was no longer shaking with emotion. It was as though Kid Blink had broken the tension in the room and made me realize that I had been ranting like a lunatic.

"Y'know what, Ace?" Spot remarked, drawing back. I lifted my chin defiantly, expected him to make some scathing remark about how I was overreacting, or how I simply didn't understand. Instead, he unexpectedly sat down on the stairs and stared straight at me. "I think you're right."

Instead of being stunned, like I always was when he made uncharacteristic remarks, I found that I didn't feel anything at all. Does this making me a demanding jerk-ess of a girlfriend? Or just too tired to react? I didn't know. But I was sure I was right. Or was I just tired of being wrong? But if he had been there, I wouldn't have had to go all the way to Queens to ask Philip for help.

Something prickled at the back of my mind just then, as though I was on the verge of finding out something important. I paused, waiting for it to make itself clear, but it merely faded away. I inwardly shook the feeling away, deciding if it was that important it would come again.

"Ace?"

I looked up to see Spot looking at me quizzically. "I'll make it up to you," he said seriously, and I had a feeling he was repeating himself, "I promise."

Whatever was left of my nastiness finally drained away slowly, leaving me feeling empty and weary of the whole situation. I didn't feel like arguing anymore. I guess I now understood Cat's feelings when she gave me that alarmed look when I had yelled at her. It was too _tiring _to argue.

"Yeah," I rubbed my eyes again and for some reason felt unbearably _sad_. For some reason, I told Spot, "Thank you."

He looked dark. "Nah. I think…well. Maybe I lost my head last night. Maybe I was selfish. Or maybe I just needed to face Duke. I don't know."

This time, I _was_ surprised. I hadn't though he would go as far as say that. His lips twitched into a bitter smile. "I ain't perfect as everyone thinks I am, darlin'. I make mistakes too."

"Of course you do. You're human, aren't you?" I shot back rudely, but somewhere inside I felt a pang at his words. Did he think that I saw him in such a cruel, impersonal light?

He took off his hat and gave it a brief spin on one hand. "Sure I am. But I ain't as heartless as people think. And I do care 'bout Cat."

I blinked at him. "I know that."

His eyes flickered over at me. "Ya do?"

"I do!" But as I spoke, I remembered what I had said only minutes ago. I had _implied_ that he did not care about Cat, hadn't I, by stating he had left without a thought for her or us? "Oh. Er…I know you care about us. I didn't mean…well, my point was that I wish you hadn't left last night. I didn't mean that you don't care about us at all. Like you said, everyone makes mistakes."

He laughed a little unsteadily, and a shiver crawled down my spine. "Yeah. Everyone. Even da great Spot Conlon."

I stared, feeling a trickle of unease at his behavior. In fact, he had been acting rather odd ever since he had come back. I hadn't noticed, because I had been moody and grouchy. But now, I realized in a flash that Spot was not being _Spot_. I had been the one doing all the talking (well, yelling, rather). I hadn't really paid any attention to what Spot might have been feeling after his confrontation with Duke.

Had I been the selfish one then? Yelling and screeching at him for caring only about himself, while I was doing the same…? I looked down. I was sick of being wrong. Sick and tired of it. I was sick of making mistakes. Sick of making a fool out of myself. Sick of being ignorant all the time.

… _To not know one's faults is true ignorance…_

Yeah well, thanks, Philip.

Spot was staring hard at something only he could see. Well, he had apologized to me. I suppose I owed him an apology too. But somehow, I couldn't do it. Shame and self-loathing kept the words from forming themselves. So instead, I asked very carefully, "What happened, Spot? What happened last night?"

He gave a flippant shrug, but I saw the intensity in his eyes. "He talked. I listened."

"Yeah, right."

He grinned wantonly. "Alrigh', I talked some too. He just wants me humiliated, Ace. Oh, and dead."

I frowned. "Then…why didn't he hurt you when you came?"

"Well, he thought it would be too easy. I was counting on dat; dat's why I went."

I bit my lip. "I don't understand."

"Hmm?"

"_Why _did you leave? Really?"

He was silent for a long moment. I waited, trying to see past the careful mask he had over his emotions. I hated that mask, by the way. Maybe it was because _I _had no control over emotions whatsoever. But if it was a real mask, I would have ripped it off of him. I hated it that much.

When he finally spoke, his voice was also toneless, except for a slight acerbic edge. "I couldn't put it off any longer. I knew things were boilin' up to somethin'. An' dat somethin' turned out to be Cat gettin' stabbed. It was my fault for not actin' da moment I heard 'bout him coming back."

I shook my head vehemently. "Don't be ridiculous. You couldn't have possibly seen that she was gonna get hurt."

Ignoring me, he went on, "I needed to see him with my own two eyes. I hadn't seen him for nearly two years. It's hard to fight with an enemy who might have changed. He may have become someone else altogether."

I asked curiously, "Had he? Had he changed?"

Spot's mouth tightened into a smirk. "Nah. He hadn't changed one bit."

I thought for a minute. "Not one bit? Is that really possible?"

All of a sudden, he gave me a sharp, perceiving look. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," I shrugged, inwardly startled by that suspicious look, "I don't mean anything."

"No?"

"Well. People change."

For a brief moment, I was in Queens LH; Philip Danford sitting across from me as he discussed the very same topic.

_People __**can **__change…_

_What if one longs to amend a certain thing, but everyone else believes he cannot?_

Spot however, nodded slowly, agreeing with me. "Maybe. Maybe people do. But some people don't."

"I see," I grimaced and vehemently swore. It made Spot smile, but he sobered too quickly. So I asked, "What are you going to do?"

"Find out what he has in mind next. Den break him."

His matter-of-fact tone made me shiver. He wanted revenge. Just like…like…_Duke_. My throat clenched and I immediately hated myself so much that I turned away from Spot to hide my face.

I felt absurd. Of course Spot wanted revenge, I told myself fiercely. Duke had been awful, and he was still being awful. I hated him, and I never wanted to meet him, ever. He deserved whatever was coming.

But doesn't that make us no different from him? Would Duke simply keep going, because of what we believed was justice and vengeance? Won't it simply end up with him continuing and us lashing back? Even if we told ourselves all we wanted was to be rid of Duke, we would inevitably involve others. What about those in Queens? Like Philip? He was already involved, because I had turned to him for help. Innocent people would be hurt, just like Cat.

Or was I being ridiculous again?

"What are you thinkin'?"

I plopped myself down next to Spot, feeling slightly more awake. I think his willingness to talk had woken me up. This was so strange. Our argument had turned into a debate, and now into a conversation. Is this normal? Maybe it is.

"My head's going around in things," I stated. "Or maybe things are going around and around my head. I don't know."

"What things?"

I turned so that I was facing him. "What you just said."

He sucked in a breath, sharply, but he didn't change the tone of his voice. "Revenge, eh?"

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

He smirked without humor. "Sure. Dis may shock you, but I ain't no saint. I want revenge. I want Duke dead."

"I see."

I shot a sidelong glance at his face. Taunt lines etched every feature, and right then and there, I knew for sure that he was capable of becoming so obsessed with getting back at Duke that he would unconsciously end up hurting others in the process. It was an awful thing to accuse him of, but revenge had a way of twisting itself around until you became the very thing you hated.

Aren't I deep?

I suddenly noticed that he was narrowing his eyes at me again.

"You're killin' me, Ace," he said suddenly, fiercely. "What is it you're drivin' at?"

I bit my lip and wavered. I replied carefully, "I don't want to see anyone getting hurt."

He sighed. What was he thinking? "I don't wanna see it either."

"But will you try?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"No, I mean…I mean it. Don't get so caught up in this whole thing with Duke," I pulled back and said earnestly, "Don't let it…let him…get to you. Don't become like him."

He blinked for a second and momentarily looked stunned. As if he had finally understood what I meant; that I didn't mean he had to protect others from Duke, but from himself. He looked as though I had physically struck him. You can't imagine how I felt then…but he _had_ asked for the truth. I thought he would get up and stalk away then, because he looked angry for a second. Then his face changed and he gave a sigh, running his hands through his hair.

Then he looked at me. He took my hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the tips of my fingers softly.

"Love ya, Ace," he smiled faintly, "Thanks."

I grinned with relief, knowing then that he understood. "You're welcome," then I added, "And I'm sorry for exploding at you just now." Somehow the words were easier to say. "I didn't mean to."

"Yeah right."

I gave a tired shrug and tried to think up something fairly witty to say, but then my mind felt as though it was working at a snail's pace. The best I could churn out was a yawn. He blinked and for some absurd reason I giggled. Oh no, I thought helplessly. I'm so exhausted that I'm starting to find everything funny. Well, this could be good…or this could be bad.

He looked at me sharply, narrowing those amazing blue-gray eyes at me in a savagely concerned sort of way that rather affected me more than it should have.

"Don't look at me like that," I twinkled, "And yeah, I guess I did mean to."

Those eyes widened slightly and he looked incredibly angry. He furiously snarled at me, "You idiot. You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"

I yawned in his face. "_Now _you notice? But you didn't sleep either."

"I did."

"Where?" I asked, although I didn't have a single scrap of interest.

He looked at me exasperatedly. "Does it matter where? On da streets; I've done it before," then he gave me a burning glare, "You're just a stupid girl, aren't you? You could have told me. One word, and I'd have left you alone."

I scowled. "You woke me up," I then added, "And I'm not 'just a stupid girl.'"

He paused. Then he stared at me as though I would disappear if he looked away. His face had a thousand different expressions on it and one of them was a shade of something very close to wonder. "No," he breathed, "You sure ain't. You're marvelous, darlin'. Walkin' round all night to save Cat and den forcin' me to see things straight again. Givin' me blasted advice, when you're practically fallin' to pieces. What'd I do without you?"

He abruptly grabbed my shoulders and kissed me, fiercely, holding me so close that I could scarcely breathe. "Here," he growled, breaking away and suddenly picking me up, "I'm gonna personally take you to bed, where you _will_ sleep and get some rest."

I blinked, but didn't speak. I wasn't arguing at any rate. Besides, it felt maddeningly glorious to simply relax in his arms. He stalked up the stairs and then looked down at me. He remarked, "You're rather tiny, huh."

"Well then, in the future I shall try and become enormously humongous for you."

"Dat's not necessary…though I appreciate da thought."

"Hah."

"Hmm?"

"I said, 'Hah.'"

"Brave Ace."

"For what?"

"For… everythin'."

Kid Blink must have thoughtfully left through the back entrance, because only Cat was in the room. She was sleeping still. Spot rather unromantically nearly dropped me at the doorstep. He isn't some macho guy, you know; he's built more for speed than strength. But he gamely went on and more or less dumped me on the bunk.

I sat up and gave him a mock-glare. "You certainly are a gentleman," I said sarcastically.

He glanced at Cat and, smirking, said in loud stage-whisper, "Heard it all before, darlin'. Now get some rest."

"Four of the loveliest words ever."

He gave a short laugh and then without keeping me awake by lingering around, he simply went out of the room with long, brisk steps. I watched him go through already half-closed eyes.

I managed one thought before I fell asleep: Did I just have my first quarrel with him? You know, like lovers' quarrel or whatever it was called?

Then I grinned, imaging what he would say to that.

_First quarrel? Idiot Ace; you've been fighting with me since da day we met. _

I think the day we stop fighting would be the day we fall out of love with each other. Twisted logic, but I think it's true. He didn't want some blonde, mindless bimbo, and I didn't want the perfect, marvelous boyfriend with impeccable manners. Besides…I think we both enjoyed making up after fighting too much.

And Duke?

Well, he can go fall off a cliff. We can take anything he throws at us. And if I knew anything about Spot, he'd have a plan ready by tonight. I smiled grimly and yawned widely, feeling every weary bone in my body clamoring for much-needed sleep. Yeah, bones, you're gonna get it.

I lay down…and I don't remember my head touching the pillow.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Whew! That was really hard to write…all my writing juices are practically all gone. By the way, although the Ace and Cat chapter seems like it took place at night, it actually didn't. It's in the morning. That's why no other newsies are here; they're all selling…so yeah. Just wanted to make that clear.

So, hope you guys liked this chapter…Will be eagerly awaiting for your reviews/opinions/thoughts/impressions/suggestions/advice/constructive criticisms on the chapter, the story as a whole, the plot, the characters…OH, and the guys for Philip Danford and Verge! Lol.


	8. Shades of Gray

**T****he Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note: **Hi everyone.

So…it's been a long time since I updated anything. A really, really long time. Over a whole year! I'm seventeen, a college student now at Kapiolani Community College in Hawaii, and so many things have changed. I still love to write though, but some things happened that made me stop writing completely and it's been a rather awful year I suppose. But I know I promised to finish the story, and I've made you guys wait a long time...for that I'm truly sorry, and I owe you an explanation I suppose.

A couple chapters back I mentioned that my mother was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor in her brain. It's been a little over a year since, and it's been a pretty tough year. The doctors gave her three months to live, but she surpassed their expectations through our prayers, hope, and faith. She passed away last June, and although I know I will see her again and have hope in that, it's been really hard to cope I guess. This story meant a lot to me, truly, as tacky as it sounds, but after my mom passed away, writing some dumb fanfiction on the internet sounded sooo meaningless and I just didn't like what I wrote anyway.

I guess I started writing again since I took some English classes that _forced _me to write, and sort of made me realize how much I loved writing once again. And also I've met some other people who love to write who encouraged me after reading some of my stuff, and also my old friends kept encouraging me as well. Hm.

So that's the whole sob story as to why it's been so long since I updated. I wrote about half of this chapter before stuff began to happen, so I really hope there's some form of fluidity and connection between the time I was writing before and then from where I began again.

Tell me what you think!

_**Disclaimer:**_ Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

* * *

"Aaaaaand one, two, three, one, two, three…"

Spot smoothly slid his hand around my waist, but his eyes were blank as though he were trying very hard to pretend he was far, far away from here. "Dis is a waste of time," he murmured tightly and reached for my hand.

"Other hand, Spot!"

He swore under his breath and hastily switched hands. I put my left hand on his shoulder as I was instructed and glanced at his face. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

He scoffed in denial. How just like a guy. "Dat's 'cos I got a bad partner.

"Well!" I huffed, "I like that!"

He smirked in appreciation. "Yep. I've never had a worse partner."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah right. You've never _danced_ before."

"True."

"Well, it's gonna get worse. All we've done is take position and then do a couple of steps."

His grip tightened and he gave me a stormy sea-gray glare. "Just shut up and dance."

He led. I followed gingerly, feeling his tension in the stiffness of his shoulders, despite the confidence in his steps. He wasn't very good, to be honest, although he was learning fast. At any rate, who was I to talk?

Medda hollered instructions to each of us. I chanced a look over my shoulder. Due to the lack of girls, Medda had to appoint some of the boys to dance the ladies' part. I was dancing with Spot, but everyone else…well, you can imagine how it was. I watched as Kid Blink push Mush away as the other boy made a misstep. I winced as Medda bellowed at them. Skittery swore a colorful streak as he moved the opposite way from Jack, causing both of them to stumble clumsily away.

And Race? He was stuck with Verge.

Well, they were doing well, which was a surprising thing in itself. However, the most astonishing thing was that they were both _silent_.

Previously, the two of them had been going at each other's throats, throwing nasty insults that were sometimes quite clever. Verge was actually very intelligent, despite his occasional sullen, stubbornness. Race, as I had discovered already, was a major wise-cracker, and had been ruthlessly lashing Verge with his sharp tongue. Apparently, he was bent on not letting Verge have his way 'while he was in Manhattan.'

But now, they were suspiciously quiet as though they were in deep concentration. Then, Verge gave a hoarse shout and sprung away from Race, his blue eyes blazing with anger.

"Ow! Watch where you're steppin', thickhead!"

Race stuck a cigar in his mouth and gritted his teeth, his usually smiling face darkening with annoyance. "Me? You're da one not steppin' right! Your foot ain't supposed to be dere!" he turned slightly and demanded, "Medda!"

"Actually, Verge is right, Racetrack. He's leading, so you're supposed to follow. And I prefer you to not smoke while you dance."

Awkward silence.

Race took the cigar out of his mouth and narrowed his eyes at Verge. "Stinkin' Harlem."

"Puny Manhattaner."

"_Puny?!"_

Jack intervened hastily, trying to sound stern, but the effect was rather ruined with his mouth quirking from the effort to not smile. "Cool it down, Race. We ain't gonna get any progress if we keep stoppin'. And Verge, stop provokin' him."

I groaned to myself as the two boys glowered at each other. In case you haven't noticed, we were now in the middle of our second lesson for the Social Dinner at Mrs. White's. Pleasant waltz music played in the background, but no one seemed to notice. We hadn't even started truly dancing. This was our third false start. The first had stopped because Verge had declared that Race was too short for him. The second had stopped because Kid Blink complained that Mush's hands were too sweaty. Then the third…yeah. As you can see.

Medda leaned wearily next to the phonograph. Her face looked strained with frustration. "Right," she said rigidly, "Let's try it again."

I shot the Manhattaners and Verge a Look. Verge was smirking at Race, who had a fierce scowl distorting his lips. I think he was upset not only because he had to dance the girls' part, but because Medda had made him stop smoking. He rolled his eyes bad-temperedly at Verge, "Wipe dat smirk off your face. We'll be switching soon anyhow."

Verge shrugged. "I'm still a better dancer."

And he was, actually. He was surprisingly graceful, and had a controlled rhythm to his steps that rather caught all of us off guard.

"Be quiet, you two!" snapped Medda, her face nearly as red as her hair. She reached over and abruptly turned up the phonograph. Now," she said coldly, "Let us begin. Aaaaaaand one two three-"

"Ow!!!"

Insert wild swearing.

"What happened?" Medda all but bellowed.

"Ya clumsy dwarf! I'll kill ya!"

"Ya know," Race said uncaringly, "I've got a question."

"Race," Jack said warningly, tipping his hat back.

Race grinned and said in a rush, as if before Jack stopped him, "Hair's so unnatural, eh, Verge? Why's it so white? Like an old lady's or somethin'."

Poor Verge. He looked like he was going to burst into a million pieces. He looked down, struggling to control himself. Jack folded his arms and said thickly, "Can we try again, Medda?"

Medda reached over to the phonograph, her tone resigned as she began again, "Aaaand-"

Verge abruptly turned to Medda and snapped in a cold, cold voice, "I want," he stated very clearly, "I want a different partner."

Medda looked as though she would say yes to anything at that point, as long as we all got along. "Sure, hun. How about Skitt-"

"No," cut in Verge pointedly, "Not one of _them_," then he snarled vehemently, "Dis whole thing _sucks_, blast it."

I suppose it did, in a sense, for him especially more than for us. I felt rather sorry for him, because everyone was openly showing their dislike. It _was _his own fault, since yesterday he had been a real jerk. But today, the newsies were being openly nasty to him. Well, except for Spot, but he wasn't exactly helping either.

So I guess that's why I called out, "I'll switch."

Verge looked startled. Spot gave me a slow, careful look. "What are you doin'?"

"I don't know," I muttered, "But someone's gotta shut Verge up or else we'll never get back home. And I think…I mean, I don't think he'll mind me," I winced and shook my head, saying quietly, "Everyone's being a bit too nasty. Don't you think?"

Spot rolled his eyes and the expression on his face obviously meant: "So? Ain't my problem." But he said nothing. He seemed more exasperated (at my thoughts?) than upset, and he simply shrugged. He gave Race a stare, but didn't do anything to stop me as I went over to Verge. The other boy blinked at me, looking surprised, and I gave him my very best glare so he wouldn't get any mistaken ideas about my switching.

He blinked again. "I think dat just 'bout burned me."

"This is all your fault, you know, for being so _bothersome_."

He looked offended, but Medda flicked on the phonograph again and we both automatically took position as the music started playing again. It was maddeningly beautiful, by the way. The song, that is. At least, if you actually listen to it. It was the sort of song that really filled you up with a sort of buoyancy until you can't help but move. Our feet led us into a swift turn, and soon enough, everyone was dancing.

I cast a surreptitious glance towards my partner. His eyes were focused on something past my shoulder, and his mouth was tightly compressed in a sullen, _mulish_ sort of way. He looked resigned and tense, and it seemed as though he was getting ready for me to make some snide comment or purposely make a fool out of him in front of everyone.

I just danced.

Step, step, twirl, step.

Medda bellowed out instructions, but there were no other interruptions, which was a great relief. I stumbled once, but he merely didn't seem to notice/politely ignored it. After a while though, we got into the basic swing of it and I found myself concentrating on doing better instead of on not making mistakes. Verge was a good dancer, and as in he looked happier and didn't seem like he expected me to make him trip or anything nasty like that.

He even managed a smile. "Ace, right?"

"And you are Verge," I stated dryly. I felt sorry for him, really. But somehow I couldn't bring myself to be nice. Also, I think I was jealous at how ridiculously graceful he was. I understood Racetrack's frustration. It was all I could do to keep up with him and with every second that passed, I could see how he was trying to make up for the skills I lacked. This of course, made me feel unnaturally clumsy.

Medda continued to yell out commands and orders, but, for the very first time, no one got into a fight. I glanced up at Verge and was startled to see those pale blue eyes trained on me. There was a shrewd, assessing look to them that had a hint of suspicion, and I raised my eyebrows.

"What?"

Immediately, the look went away and was replaced with his usual mischievous twinkle. He shrugged, leading me easily across the room, "Nothin'," then he added, with a quick flash of teeth that I recognized again as a grin, "I was jus' wonderin' what Spot sees in ya."

I nearly came to an abrupt stop, but he managed to force me into a twirl and I came back spluttering, crashing into his chest clumsily. He hastily adjusted me and we both retraced our steps. I glared at him, astounded by the sheer audacity of his remark.

"What in the _world_?" I snarled under my breath, considering whether to kick him or punch him. Probably kick.

His blue eyes crinkled into a smile again. "Eh, don't be angry. I meant it in a good way. His last girlfriend was a real stunner, alrigh', but she wouldn't have done a gutsy thing like dat."

I was puzzled now. "Like what?" _Step, step, step…_

"Heh?"

"Like what?"

"Oh. Like walk 'round Brooklyn all night for a doctor."

I choked. "_How do you-_"

"Shh."

I swiftly threw a look over my shoulder. Spot's narrowed eyes met mine for a second, before he turned away. I coughed and then focused my attention on Verge. "How do you know 'bout that?" I hissed at him, strangely angry.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, his shocking blonde hair shading his face. "Everyone knows," he said simply, all gleeful at how dumb I was. Whee.

I felt cheated somehow. Was there some sort of secret network of spies going through every borough? How was it that everyone seemed to know who I was, what I did, and what was happening around me? I was getting thoroughly sick of being spied upon, and I never liked feeling ignorant. How much exactly did people know that I didn't know they knew?

He rolled one shoulder. "We know all 'bout you. And Conlon. And Duke."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why are you tellin' me all this?"

He looked surprised. "So you'll have a place to go to, of course."

Of course.

I didn't have a clue about what he was talking about. It must have shown on my face, because he added, "You know."

"No, I don't know."

He began to look uncomfortable. "I forgot. You ain't been with dem too long."

"You're not making any sense."

He sighed and said in a fast, furious whisper, "Just in case things don't go well with Duke, kid. You need to think ahead. _Newsies_ gotta think ahead."

I stared at him, appalled at his words, and astounded again that he had the nerve to say them. We danced in silence for a few seconds as I tried to figure things out. He was offering to take me in to Harlems if Spot lost Brooklyn. Wasn't he? Or…was that what he meant? I suppose I ought to be thankful, but what exactly did he mean by that? A place to go to? Did he really mean just that, or was it a subtle way of telling me that I…that he…oh great. This was terrible. I should have stuck to dancing with Spot.

Verge seemed to be waiting for a reply, so I finally looked at him. "That's an awful thing to say."

He looked startled. "Why?"

"Er. Because…you…because…," I trailed off helplessly and then shook my head mutely, looking down at my feet and trying not to step on his. "Whatever. I love this song," I added, hoping to change the subject, but it only seemed to make him more confused.

There was a rather long pause again until he suddenly sucked in a quick breath.

Well, I looked at him. His expression had changed into one of surprised horror. "_Oh_," he said and he gave me an indignant look. "No, Ace_._ I didn't mean_ that_. Have ya any clue what Conlon would do?"

I felt embarrassed. "Then what do you mean?"

"I meant…," he looked away and looked as embarrassed as I must have, "I just meant it as it is. C'mon, Ace. We've only met two times. Anyway," he smiled slightly, "You remind me way too much of my little brother."

"Your _brother_?" I felt somewhat insulted, although I was glad that he wasn't trying to make trouble. Still, at the very least, he could have said sister. But _brother_?

Somehow though, I was smiling back. I didn't really know what to think of Verge. He seemed genuine; with an honesty that was a bit tactless but reliable. There were plenty of people going around making vague comments anyhow (coughPhilipcoughSpotcough), and it was nice sometimes to know that he wasn't the sort of person who wouldn't go the roundabout way to make a point. Then again, I remembered that look I had seen. As though he suspected me of something. And again, he had been a little sneaky just now.

But I had to ask one more question: "What do you know about Duke?"

He shrugged and pressed his lips together, as though trying to figure out what to phrase what he was going to say next. I waited patiently, although I was puzzled at his reaction. After a moment, he shook his head and asked quickly, "You want my honest opinion?"

My eyes widened, but I just answered, "Of course. Why?"

"Well," he avoided my eyes, "There are always two sides to every story. I'm guessin' you've only heard one side."

All of a sudden, I felt uneasy. "What do you mean?"

He said quietly, "Duke was a great guy. Helped us out loads of times. He even knocked out the Delanceys once, when we came over to Manhattan," he smiled ruefully, "My brother got picked on. Duke took care of 'em."

I didn't speak. _Couldn't _speak.

Why weren't people ever what you thought they were?

"Everyone liked him. And I think lots still do, actually. That's probably why Queens took him in."

"Took him in?" I felt utter confusion and a tired sort of exasperation. That's why Queens took him in? Queens…_took _him in? As in…as in Philip…

"So…," I remarked as casually as I could, "You mean that leader there actually allowed Duke come? As in didn't tell Brooklyn, accepted Duke, and is now currently _helping _him?"

Verge shrugged again. "Well, whatshisface is new, right? I don't think anyone's even seen him yet. Paul or James or something."

I winced. "Philip."

Verge gave me a sharp look. "Yeh, dat's it. Know him, eh?"

I shrugged back at him. "Sort of," I quickly said, "So you're saying maybe Philip might not know he's Duke…and that's why he's allowing him to stay?"

He looked uncomfortable as he danced a little further away from Spot, who was coming a bit closer. "Well, dat's a possibility. Den again, chances are slim. I'm sure some of the other boroughs' caught glimpses of him."

I gaped at him. "You mean, everyone's probably seen him…but didn't tell Spot? They've _helped _Duke?"

He hissed at me, "Quiet down, darlin'."

I lowered my voice slightly, "You mean…that everyone…is on _Duke's _side?"

He didn't answer.

Oh _no_.

This was terrible. I now knew why Spot had been so haggardly broken last night. A strange sort of tightness gripped me, like someone was choking me again except this time it wasn't my throat. My stomach flip-flopped and I felt sick. Somehow, I gathered myself together and met Verge's eyes. He wasn't telling me everything, I knew, and it was because Spot was there. We had to meet up again somewhere else.

"Could…could we talk? Not while dancing; I can barely think. Later."

Verge shrugged (apparently he has a bit of a bad habit of shrugging). "No problem. Don't tell no one though, right?"

"No, please don't."

The rest of the dance was spent in awful tension. I wasn't angry at Verge, of course; he obviously knew more than he let on. I'd always known there was something much, much deeper going on than what everyone was telling me about Duke and Spot. And here was Verge, this lanky, sharp-eyed blonde boy, who was obviously the best source of information.

Because, of course, he was unbiased and utterly _not_ caught up in this whole thing like we all were. Not tangled up in wires and webs. He could afford to be cruelly honest (although I was sure he wasn't really being cruel on purpose), because he didn't have to lie about anything.

And how desperately I wanted to know the truth.

"That's enough for now I should think," Medda said, her voice sounding tired and strained. She sat down in a chair and switched off the phonograph. "Everyone, be back here tomorrow at the same time."

I think she wanted us out. I didn't blame her. I looked at Verge and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. I shook my head. "Just a second."

I wondered how I would be able to think up a reason to speak to Verge alone without Spot interfering. I didn't exactly think he'd like my discussing with Verge behind his back, but I didn't know how else to talk privately. I glanced towards Spot and he started making his way towards me.

For once, luck was with me. Before he took two steps though, Jack appeared, and tapped him on the shoulder. He said something, quietly and under his breath, and Spot glanced at him. It must have been something important, because he immediately focused his attention solely upon him. I was slightly curious, but I decided to make good use of the opportunity. I walked towards them, and sure enough, they immediately quieted. I inwardly rolled my eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt," I remarked a bit sarcastically, "Nothing wrong, I hope."

Jack said nothing. Spot shrugged, "Nah. How was Verge?"

I resisted the urge to tell him everything. But doing that would mean betraying Verge's trust. I strongly doubted he wanted Spot to know what he had told me. And besides, Jack was there. "He's a good dancer," I answered, and, just so he wouldn't get suspicious, "At least, he's way better than you are."

Jack snorted, while Spot bristled. Boys. "He may be good, but he's a terrible gambler."

I snickered. "Right. Anyway," I said smoothly, "I'll be leaving now. Are you still gonna be here?"

Spot glanced at Jack. "Yeah. I'll see you back at da House."

I wondered if he suspected and marveled to find that he didn't. He must be preoccupied with whatever Jack planned on telling him. Either that, or I was getting better at lying. I shook away the disturbing thought and lightly kissed Spot, inwardly feeling a twinge of guilt at the thought of talking with Verge behind his back. He didn't seem to notice anything, and the moment I left them, they were both talking again, quietly.

I looked around for Verge. He wasn't anywhere in sight. Perhaps he was waiting outside. Pursing my lips in annoyance, I made my way across the room and slipped out. I could hear distant _pitter-patter _of the rain outside even from the narrow hallway. I reached the door and carefully opened it. It _was _raining, and it was raining hard. I cursed silently and threw on my cloak, hoping it would keep me as dry as possible. Where was he?

"Where we goin'?"

I glanced sharply to my left and saw that he was there, leaning with his back against the outer wall of the building. Apparently he didn't mind the rain. Nor did he seem all that worried about Spot. All of a sudden, I felt a strange reluctance to leave with him. What if he was lying about Duke? What if he was lying about Philip? Who was I to trust him anyway? I met him only once. What if he was in league with Duke, and wanted me to turn against Spot? Everyone seemed to be changing sides in this game, and I suddenly realized that I couldn't risk trusting in the wrong person now. I eyed him, and he glanced back quickly.

He straightened. "What's da matter? You look kinda pale."

I hastily shook my head. "I'm fine."

"Yeah?" He said bluntly, "You gettin' cold feet or somethin'?"

I shook my head again, embarrassed at having shown my emotions. "No, I'm fine. Really."

I caught a sudden flicker of humor tug at his lips, and he looked like he was going to say something, but he merely shrugged. "Well, den, let's head out. You got a place in mind?"

I was an idiot, a fool to just suddenly ask him to spill secrets when I barely knew him. Jack hated him. Maybe Verge was with Duke on this. Spot seemed to trust him, but who could he trust? And if he couldn't trust anyone, who on earth was I supposed to trust?

I didn't know what to do. I took a deep breath, held it, and then blurted out, "_You_ aren't on Duke's side, are you?"

For a moment, there was stunned silence as he gaped at me. He looked so shocked I immediately felt guilty. Then, a strange expression flickered across his face. I couldn't quite place it; he was surprised and horrified at what I had just said, and yet trying very, very hard not to laugh. Amused horror. Then the humor of whatever it was he was laughing at went away, and he grew serious. He said softly, "Listen up, Ace. I don't even know you dat well, but I've heard you're a smart one. So let me tell you one thing."

I reddened. "Yeah?"

"Takin' sides always got consequences." Rain dripped off his hat as he shifted towards me, "Everyone knows dat. So should you."

My eyebrows shot up at his cleverly indirect answer. So Verge wasn't as bluntly honest as I thought. Maybe all newsies were like that. "So you're saying you don't care either way?" I questioned sharply.

He didn't answer immediately, as thought he was mulling it over. Or maybe he was just wondering whether he should just walk away and forget giving information to some girl who didn't even trust him. I crossed my arms, feeling cold and wondering whether I had just made a fool out of myself again.

"You sure have a way of comin' to da point," he finally said, wryly. He grew quiet once more and I waited, feeling there was more to come. Then he seemed to come to a decision. In that same quiet voice, he said, "I'd prefer not takin' sides. But let's just say if worst comes to worst, I think Duke would win."

"Why?" I was horrified.

"He's real smart-"

"Spot's smart!"

"Yes, but Spot's got some morals," he said harshly, suddenly looking angry. "At least, he has 'em now. You should know dat by now. People with a conscience don't go far. Duke ain't got a conscience. He'd do _anything _to get what he wants. Spot wouldn't. An' dats da dirty truth."

I gritted my teeth. "So what are you saying then?"

He swore under his breath. "This is ridiculous. If I_ was _on Duke's side, you'd be thrown at his feet by now and he'd be usin' you to get at Spot. I gotta admit, I was pretty surprised at yoah request jus' now. You believe people way too easily, Ace. Asking me to talk with you? What if I _was_ with Duke, eh? You'd certainly be in a tough spot to get out of."

I doggedly ignored his sharp words, "So you're not with him?"

He gave a sigh and for a moment he was silent. Then he said quietly, "Even though it makes sense to join da winnin' side, don't mean it's right. Da odds are against Conlon. Duke's got Queens on his side again, and Queens is a pretty powerful borough," he paused and shifted, his frustration fading away. Now he looked plain uncomfortable. I looked hard at him, determined to not let him hedge his way around this time. He finally sighed and said quietly, "Well, obviously you ain't gonna let me off without an answer," he smiled wryly, "It's Conlon I'd back. Duke can get a bit too…extreme."

"What happened to those consequences you were referring to?" I had to ask, as a last probing jab.

He winced. "Yeah well. It's a drag," he saw the look on my face and miled crookedly, "You can distrust me all you want, darlin'. But I knew Duke pretty well. _You_ don't," he paused and said pointedly, "But I know Spot well too. You've got to believe me at one point or another. I ain't intendin' to hurt you or Conlon _or _Duke. For now, at least," he added.

I was still stiff for a second with all my suspicions. But slowly, I relaxed, and my doubts faded away as soon as they had come. There was no lie in his clear blue eyes, and he was obviously in earnest. Once again, I realized that Verge was as honest to himself as he was to others. I should have known better than to suspect him of doing something sneaky or underhanded. At the very least, he would help me understand the truth behind Duke and Spot. And he himself had said that he would take Spot's side if things came down to that. I felt my shoulders loosen and I tentatively smiled, albeit apologetically. "Okay," I said finally, sticking out a hand. "I believe you."

His smile flashed out again, and he seemed to relax as well. "Glad to know." He shook my hand and without a word, looked rather relieved. "You really gave me a turn dere. I'd never been suspected of bein' a double-crossin' dog. Still," he said thoughtfully, "Good thinkin'. A bit slow though; you should have thought of accusin' me a bit earlier.

I cringed, but then saw that he was joking through the way his eyes were crinkling. "Sorry," I said truthfully, "I don't know what came over me. You were suddenly very suspicious."

He laughed. "Oh yeah? Must be your problem, 'cos no one's ever thought me suspicious. What with my good looks and all."

I coughed. "Right. So let's get out of here. Where's a place we can talk without being disturbed?" I added after a beat, "Thank you though. Really."

He ignored my appreciation. "I know a place. A bit of a walk from here but it's probably da best. No one would catch us dere."

I stepped out, immediately getting wet. I grimaced and said, "Okay. Where is it?"

He adjusted his hat and pulled his collar up against the cold. Then he looked at me and gave me another quick grin. "Are ya up to visitin' Harlems?"

* * *

"I heard 'bout Cat."

Spot raised one eyebrow at Jack and felt a flare of irritation. It irked him somehow, to know that Jack had found out Brooklyn was in trouble. He folded his arms and eyed the taller boy, trying to discern how much he knew. Considering it was Jack, he probably had the entire gist of it. Manhattan had some pretty sharp eyes, Racetrack oddly enough being one of them. Cursed Race. "Ace saved her life," he finally said simply.

Jack nodded quietly, his eyes somber as they looked keenly at Spot. "Duke's in Queens."

Spot shrugged carelessly. "Yeah. Had a little chat with him yesterday."

He scored that one. Jack started visibly and although his mouth didn't drop open (Jack never did that, Spot mused absently), his eyes widened slightly. Spot smirked. At that, Jack gave a sudden, trademark Kelly laugh, the one that sounded like the world had played a joke on him and he had enjoyed it. He shook his head slightly. "Well? What happened?"

Spot leaned against the wall. "We just talked. He ain't changed at all."

Jack winced. "He ain't grown a boil on dat face of his?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "Nah. He could still charm a bird right outta its nest. Though dere's a good chance of him getting a broken nose."

Jack's eyes sparkled appreciatively. "What 'bout a shinah?"

"On his eye."

"Both eyes."

They both laughed, a little nastily, but Spot broke off too soon. Jack sighed, noticing his friend's mood. "No other borough's with him yet, Spot. Dat much you can be sure of. He's holed up in Queens, so Queens is 'bout da only one against ya."

Spot narrowed his eyes, noticing how he had hedged around the words. "Are ya sure?"

Jack looked mildly surprised. "No, I ain't sure," he gave Spot a thoughtful look, "And since when did you start caring 'bout not involvin' other people?"

Spot suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Jack was much too perceptive. "Let's jus' say I made a promise."

Jack let it go. "Of course, we're all pretty sure. Queens dislike Brooklyn. Stands to sense dat dey're only too happy to get Duke. We're sure. Just not a hundred percent."

"We gotta be sure," Spot gritted his teeth and went straight to the point, "How many are with me den, Jack."

Jack met his eyes for a brief moment before looked away. "You know we're with ya. I never liked Duke. We see him, we'll tell you. But he ain't stupid enough to show up around here so dere ain't much we're likely to deal with."

Spot nodded slowly. "He'll leave ya alone for sure. What 'bout Harlems? Verge's never drawn da line, even when it happened last time."

Jack's mouth tightened. "Verge ain't nothin' but a two-faced rat, lookin' out for himself. He never takes sides."

Spot smirked, "And here he is, accusin' you of bein' a traitor."

Jack's mood had gotten considerably darker. "You got it. Though he ain't da only one."

Spot listened to the rain outside, not answering. He knew he himself had accused Jack of becoming a scab. He understood Verge's point of view, but Jack did too. It was just…one of those things.

Jack rolled his shoulders, as if to brush away the old memories. "Anyway, he won't help ya. But he won't help Duke either," Jack admitted reluctantly. "Maybe if you convince him." He suddenly broke into a wide, mischievous grin. "Maybe Ace, eh? He seems to like her."

Spot gave a short bark of laughter at the thought of Ace sweet-talking anyone. "He ain't dat much of a rat, Kelly. Though dat's a good idea. She'd yell at him, 'til he gets scared into givin' in."

Jack's eyes narrowed with inward amusement. "She's a good girl, Ace. She like you?"

Spot eyed him. "You think?"

"Well, I ain't seen her all over you like da other girls."

Somehow, Jack's words tugged at something he had forgotten. Something vaguely important. Then, almost immediately, he remembered. Pike had asked him the same question a few days ago.

The bet. He had to make Ace tell him she loved him in public. It had faded into the background what with everything going on. He frowned, feeling annoyed. It seemed such a small, trivial thing now, and it certainly didn't seem like anything worth continuing. Still, he had made a bet. And it certainly wouldn't do for Brooklyn's leader to call a bet off. Pike wouldn't have forgotten it and would never believe him if he said that he had. Besides, maybe something fun would lift the Brooklynite's mood. Ace had a good sense of humor. She wouldn't mind.

Spot found Jack looked curiously at him. He ignored his obvious expectation of an explanation to his sudden silence. There had also been something else he had wanted to ask Jack. He had been planning to ask Cat, but had somehow it had always escaped his thoughts through recent events. Jack would be as good as any person to ask.

"Philip Danford. Tell me 'bout him."

Jack frowned. "Dat's a real polished-up name. I've heard it before."

Spot understood what he meant. The name just popped up everywhere, but somehow always failed to catch anyone's real attention other than the fact that it was 'real polished-up,' as Jack put it. Someone who had continuously made a shady appearance through various sources of information, and Spot had a feeling it was about time to find out who it was.

He rested a hand on the golden-top of his black cane and narrowed his eyes at Jack. "Queens' leader. You seen him?"

Jack shrugged. "Nope. He just joined didn't he, like a month ago? Don't think anyone's seen him yet. Never gotten out of Queens. I heard Bronx invited them over for a poker game, but he didn't come. Somethin' 'bout a broken leg."

Spot nodded. "And Duke's dere. He must be usin' Danford, since he's new. Queens could be against Brooklyn just because of dat trouble we had over territory before, but I don't remember a Philip Danford den. He must be new, so he ain't got anything personal against me."

Jack shrugged once more, but looked wary. "I dunno. Maybe he knows Duke."

Spot shook his head. "Don't think so. Duke wouldn't bother. He wouldn't put a friend there, unless it's someone he could use," he thoughtfully tapped his fingers on the cane, "I know Ace's seen dis Danford guy, but we've never talked about it. Should be a good idea to ask her. She's got a way of nailing someone's personality down from to da spot, and she would know," his eyes hardened, "Duke's up to somethin' dere in Queens."

Whatever it was, he would beat him to it. He already knew it was his fault Cat had gotten hurt. If he had acted as soon as he had found out Duke was back, nothing would have happened. It was evident that it was too dangerous to wait for him to make the first move. The problem was, he mused quietly to himself, he couldn't just charge onto Queens with all of Brooklyn behind his back. Not without making sure all of Queens _was _against him. Which was most likely.

But if this Danford was new…

He heaved a sigh. There were too many 'ifs.' Perhaps he should talk to Danford. If the guy was new, he couldn't know what Duke was really like. Then maybe Queens could be left out of it all and no one innocent would be hurt. He felt a flash of ironic humor at his line of reasoning. This would be all Ace's doing. He would never have worried about such stuff before. He would have never cared about sparing Queens. But Ace had made him promise not to involve anyone, and she would certainly never allow him to break a promise.

He'd first have to find out what Duke was doing in Queens. If Queens wasn't against him, it would merely make matter worse. He needed information before he could act. Once he had it, he'd know where Duke was staying, who was with him, and what Brooklyn would have to deal with.

He tightened his mouth into a determined line. First things first. He needed to find Danford.

* * *

"Two ales," Verge ordered easily, sliding into his chair with a comfortable sigh. I didn't bother telling him I didn't drink, and nodded my thanks to the waiter, who left without a word. I shifted in my seat, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable. This was my first time to be in a tavern before, although Verge had called it a 'public house.' I unconsciously took off my hat and placed it on the table before quickly wrapping my hair around my head. Girls weren't allowed in taverns, and I was more than just a little nervous at the thought of getting caught and thrown back out into the rain.

Verge didn't seem to care. "You dun need to do dat," he remarked, laughing at the look on my face. "Dey don't care 'bout newsies anyway."

I shook my head. "I don't want to risk it." I tried to relax my shoulders though, and at least pretend to be calm as I tightened my hair into a bun. My eyes wouldn't stop roaming around the place. It was not as foul or dingy as I expected taverns to be, but the people were very much shady and here and there were a couple of extremely drunk men who were practically falling off their chairs. One handsome specimen sitting alone in a dark corner caught me reaching for my hat to place over my hair and he met my eyes with faint amusement. I looked away quickly, feeling my ears burn as I tugged my hat on.

"So," I forced all my discomforts to the back of my mind, "has Spot done something terribly wrong? Does he deserve what Duke is doing to him?"

Verge leaned back in his chair, smiling slightly. "You really like da straightforward way, don't ya? No fishin' for information with you?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm no good at that. I wish I was, and stylize it all,but you'd probably end up giving me stylized truth. Or probably you'd keep changing the subject. And I've no time. Just give me the facts, straight up. What happened exactly?"

He crossed his arms and looked away, his eyes traveling around the room as though distracted, but his gaze was thoughtful. Then he said casually, "Why don't you give me what you already know? Let's hear what your version of the story is."

I scowled, realizing that even if he did promise to tell me all, he was going to take his own sweet time with it. "I truly don't know anything other than what Spot told me."

He grinned. "Well, you're a smart girl. I'm sure you've made up some of your own conclusions?"

I rested my head on my hand, propping myself up with my elbow on the table. "Of course I have. But that's only because I've only heard things from Spot and the other Brooklynites. You yourself told me there's more than just one side to a story. What I see Duke in my head is this incredibly one-dimensional, heartless villain. But is that even possible?"

He flicked me a quick glance. "You're a quick learner."

I gripped my chair impatiently. "I want to know whether…whether everything that is happening is deserved or not."

Verge looked at me keenly, and I knew he had caught my momentary stumble and had known what I was going to say. I wanted to know whether Spot had done something. I wanted to know whether Duke had a reason for what he was doing.

There was silence for a moment, both of us quietly absorbed in our thoughts. Then he flexed his long fingers, "You ain't ever met Duke, right?" he asked without looking at me.

"No, never."

"You'd like him."

I glared at him, bemused at where this was going. He smiled slightly and added, "Look at dat expression on your face."

"Just 'cos I said he isn't a villain doesn't mean I'm going to like him now," I declared vehemently.

He ignored me. "You'd like him because he's just like Conlon. You gotta understand dat before I tell ya anythin'. He loved to play 'round, loved bein' in charge, and knew how to get his own way. So even if he did some nasty stuff, people didn't really care at da time."

I couldn't really understand this. "So you're saying he did wrong things, but he was so persuasive that it seemed right at the time?"

He grinned again. "Dat's it. You're getting it."

"Oh," I said, realizing that his description of Duke fit Spot perfectly, and felt awfully disconcerted. "Oh I see."

Verge gave me a look. "If I'm gonna tell ya what happened, you'd better get dat angelic image of Spot outta your head. Things got pretty dirty both sides. Conlon didn't go as far, but he was pretty ruthless."

I opened my mouth to say that that was just what I was here for, to figure out Spot's role in this; didn't he get that already? Then I saw his face and my irritation faded away. He was dead serious. For some reason, I felt both fear and reluctance creep over my resolution. For the first time, I wondered whether I actually _did _want to hear this or not. Would it change the way I felt about Spot? What if it did, proving that I didn't love him enough? Did I really want to know what sort of things he was capable of doing?

Or would I rather just continue fighting mindless beside him without fully understanding what had happened? Blindly support him against Duke? I couldn't do that. I just wasn't capable of it, maybe some other girl would be able to be a true girlfriend and accept whatever he did as right. Maybe if it were about something else, I would too, but what he did was affecting what was going on right now, with Duke, and it wasn't just affecting him, it was affecting all of us.

Besides…I was tired and sick of being ignorant. I was sick of being that 'ignorant, naïve' girl, mindlessly loving and blindly prejudiced.

So I looked at Verge and said quietly, "I need to know."

He just looked at me. Then, for a split second, all that amusement and carelessness left him and I thought I caught a trace of some form of respect enter his eyes. Just a little, and he gave me a slight nod. "Alright."

At that moment the man came with the two ales. Verge leaned back and paid him. I didn't take my eyes off Verge, not about to allow him to suddenly change the subject or get side-tracked. But my worries were unfounded as, once the man left, he took one sip of the ale and plunged right into his story.

Apparently this is how it went.

A couple of years ago, a smooth-talking gang leader known as Duke appeared in Brooklyn and started spending time around the Brooklyn slums. Newsies and gangs never mix, because it almost always ends up in violence. Spot, who was just starting out as a leader, made sure there was never any involvement with Duke's gang. At this time, there were only ten to twelve newsies in Brooklyn, and Spot was just establishing himself in.

Verge flicked out a cigar dispassionately. "One day, Duke meets up with Conlon, asks him to take his gang in as newsies. Says Conlon can be da leader and he'll will be second in command. It was a mutual agreement. Spot was lookin' for some recruits. Duke's boys were thinnin' out, what with da cops on their trail and the refuge becomin' more established.

Plus, territory meant lots to both of 'em. Joinin' together helped ensure da entire borough be theirs."

(This was why Brooklyn's more like a street gang than the other boroughs. Verge told me, after seeing the look on my face, that Brooklyn only had some elements of a street gang, like the mob factor. I forced myself to admit it: we did have a mob factor. We did have the whole violence thing going on. Except we had a legal job.

Unless Spot was an infamous crime lord? The thought made me laugh, but I said nothing. I wasn't about to interrupt Verge, not when he was willing to talk.)

"Duke and Spot, dey hit it off right from da start. Conlon likes him a lot, likes his ideas, his ambition. He especially admired da way Duke stopped at nothin' to get his way. But Conlon's still da leader, and Duke is too smart to challenge his authority. He knows da Brooklynites respect him. If he chose to go against him, da newsies would just split into two again: Brooklynites and Duke's street members.

So nothin' happens for about a year. Brooklyn grows, and at its peak, there had to be nearly 50 newsies in all, not including Duke's gang. It's da most powerful borough in New York, and Spot's reputation for being a forceful leader is backed up by da fact dat he and Duke manages to keep 'em all together. Brooklyn controls more than its territory, and it meant a lot if you ran with dem.

It's around dis time, when dey were at da top of their game, when Duke starts trying to win da newsies over. Every command Conlon makes, every direction, every opinion, Duke works his brains to think up a better one. He makes Conlon look inadequate. Like I said, he was a real charismatic guy. Everyone listened to him as much as dey listened to Conlon, and everyone knew he had helped Conlon keep Brooklyn together as well. He's been a leader longer than Spot too, so he knows how to work da strings.

I'm sure ya know how dis makes Spot feel. He takes loyalty pretty seriously. He gets real mad, and when Conlon's mad, he doesn't stop. Da things he did was pretty ruthless. At dat time, Duke's got a girl, a real looker. Spot never looked twice at her, knowing she was with Duke, but then now Spot makes as though he's got a thing for dis girl. He starts talkin' to her and flirtin', right in front of Duke."

I gritted my teeth and nodded. You can imagine how I felt. Verge gave me a careful look, but then continued on.

"Next thing ya know, dis broad leaves Duke and goes over to Conlon. Well, Duke loved her, no matter how dim she was in da head. Spot knows it, so he uses her, and den dumps her, breaking her heart."

I sucked in a quick breath. It was ridiculous for me to feel so affected, since I had told myself over and over before that Spot had done this sort of thing before. I _knew _he had always been a player. But I guess knowledge never really is enough. "Okay."

"So things are already right out in the open. One thing leads to another, sides are switched, switched again, and things get messy. Some of Spot's own newsies turn against him, like Fire. Some of Duke's join Spot, thinking he'd win out in the end. By then, it was all about self-preservation. Things got so bad that some of us even left Brooklyn altogether."

"Wait, what do you mean?" I asked, interrupting him. "What do you mean by 'us'?"

He took a swig of his ale and gave a careless shrug, "Some of us…including me. I was with Duke's gang."

I gawked at him. "You mean you _were_ with Duke? You were on his side?"

He smiled faintly. "What a face you're makin'."

I scowled. "You failed to mention that bit. Stop laughing; I didn't know."

"I know you didn't know, darling," He chuckled and said quite matter of factly, 'Yeah, me and me brother were da youngest kids in his gang then. He took me in when we lost our sister and parents."

I tried to hide my surprise the best I could. He had said it so clearly, so bluntly, with no trace of sadness or regret. There was a lot I did not know about Verge. And didn't expect.

He went on, "I didn't agree with his methods, but I didn't want to join Conlon's side and look like a traitor to all my friends. Plus Conlon was gettin' out of hand too. So I just up and left."

My head felt as though it was all spinning. All this intermingling, all these connections. "Who else," I asked tentatively, "Who else was on Duke's side?"

"Well…let's see," He raised his eyebrows in thought, his thumb playing upon the rim of his jug, "I know Jackal and Pithon, dey were also da original gang runnin' with Duke. Dey were with me. They wanted me to join Spot instead of just leavin'. But I never liked bein' tied down to things. Switching sides just meant switching leaders."

I looked at him. His sharp, defined features looked young, perhaps my age, but at the same time those assessing blue eyes were much more mature, and I realized for the first time that perhaps he was a lot older than he looked. Or experience and life had forced him to grow older faster than he deserved. He always looked as though he was on the verge of laughter with his twinkling eyes, and I wondered whether it was because he desperately wanted to be carefree. That was how it was with a lot of people who had lost something in their lives, I thought sadly. They joke, they laugh, they try to be happy, but inwardly they know nothing was ever going to be the same again. They just become experts at hiding from the world whatever they truly felt, because their mask becomes their only security.

Hadn't I felt the same when my brother died too? Verge and I were on the same boat life had put us in, and I felt a surge of sympathy for the young man sitting across from me.

"How did you become Harlem's leader?"

His smiled widened and he lifted his jug in my direction. "Dat is a story for another time."

I felt myself smile back and let it go. "Alright."

He took another swallow of ale. "Anyway, you know da rest. Things boil up until Brooklyn's split back into two again, Dis time though, a lot of Spot and Duke's boys had changed sides. Spot had Jackal and Pithon, for example. Duke got Hound and Lance. Lot of accusations flying around about sell-outs and traitors, but either way, dis was somethin' neither of da two leaders accounted for. Dey didn't think there would be any issue with loyalty. Instead, there was a lot of back-stabbin' going on," He smirked, "Am so glad I was out of it."

I rolled my eyes. "Aren't you so superior?"

He smirked.

"Those two kept puttin' off havin' a fight to finish it all. First of all, dey knew it wouldn't settle things because of de fight had gone all da way to their followers. It wasn't just dem; even if Duke lost, his boys wouldn't honor da fight, and neither would Conlon's. It's a real standoff. So Duke suddenly disappears, for a month.

No one believed he left for good. Sure enough, he turns up again. Dis time, he's actually become da leader of another borough. And yes, it's Queens. Dat's probably why he's holed up dere now. He has lots of connections dere. It's become an all out newsie war. No one was safe walkin' da streets alone. Real, vicious fights were breakin' out everywhere, and some people got seriously hurt, even killed. Not a pretty time.

Dis goes on for an entire year, da longest newsie brawl ever. Finally, it becomes clear dat da only option for it to end was for Spot and Duke to fight it out. Dere was so much casualties going on, and Conlon asked for da fight. He was da one who came to his senses to finally realize dat dose who shouldn't be involved were bein' forced into becoming involved. He lost some good kids…"

_I don't want to see anyone getting hurt…Will you try?_

He had agreed. Was it because he remembered what had happened when he _hadn't_ cared about others? I winced, disconcerted all over again at the thought of Spot being responsible of such things…even though I knew it, just _knowing _thingsnever really did much for people did it?

"Now…you've never been in a real fight before."

I resented his matter of fact assuming tone. As though just seeing my scrawny self made it so obvious.

"No bricks, chains, stones. It's just you and your hands. But both Spot and Duke got knives on them, and their boys are all ready to pounce if anything dirty happens. Duke pulls his knife first, and he's a real good knife-fighter. Spot ain't half-bad himself, but he knows he's in trouble. He gets his out, and I remember this clear as day: Duke starts playin' with Spot, gets too cocky after drawing first blood. But Spot tricks him into lowering his guard, and Duke gets hurt real bad. Da fight's over, it's won as fairly and as equally as it began, and Conlon's on top. Queens drag Duke away, half-dead, and everything just falls flat. People thought he really died; he got scarred up and everythin'."

He gave me a wry shrug. "Until now, at least. I mean, he ain't no superhero, but he's got some mad system in him to have survived."

All I could say was: "Oh."

I'm not sure what bothered me more. The fact that some of the Brooklynites I _knew _had actually been on Duke's side made me feel uncomfortable. The fact that Spot was responsible for some of his boys' deaths made me uncomfortable. The fact that he practically slaughtered Duke too, made me uncomfortable. The fact that he seduced and then hurt a girl Duke truly loved made me _truly _uncomfortable.

Or was it the fact that I _was _uncomfortable making me feel uncomfortable?

I'm thinking in circles.

Did it mean that I didn't love Spot enough because right now, I wasn't readily forgiving him, accepting everything he did in the past, understanding that he wasn't the same. In fact, I felt quite sick. Was this shallow of me? Was I in fact, judging him right now?

For some reason, the word 'judge' made things suddenly very, very clear in my head. I relaxed, calming down. I was not being judgmental. Everyone would react the same way if they learned that the boy they loved had done awfully terrible things, that is, if they found out such specifics. But I didn't plan on changing anything. I wasn't going to go home now, and tell Spot that I planned on ending our relationship. There was a difference with recognizing things for what they are and judging people…

He was different now. He said it himself, and since that certainly wouldn't have been trustworthy, I have to add that everyone else had been telling me too. Spot had changed, and although I wasn't pompous or smug enough to say that it was all because of me, things had caused him to change, and I suspected one small factor very well might have been me. No matter what people like Philip said about change, it does happen, and it did. Why should I be skeptical of something I myself had professed to exist? Change existed in people, and it had happened in Spot. And who was I to deny it from him?

I looked up and once again, there was that sharp, unflinching, almost _hard _gaze trained on me. I met it evenly. "What is it?"

Verge wrapped his hands around his jug of ale. "Now," he replied firmly, "Now, I've told you everything. I've told you da whole messed up tale of Brooklyn's darker times."

I smirked at his elaborate words. No matter what you thought of Verge, you have to admit he had a knack with words despite his thick accent and bad grammar. "Yes?"

"Now," he repeated, "I want to know what you plan on doin' with dis information."

I opened my mouth to say something nonchalant, like, "Nothing at all," or even something very courageous, like "To fight this fight with a clear mind," but it just didn't work. I closed my mouth and once again, I saw that there was a hard, assessing glint in Verge's eyes. What was with that look? Why did he suddenly look so suspicious all the time?

_Suspicious._

That was what that look was. It was suspicious, through and through, and not only was it suspicious, it was wary and analyzing. My eyes widened and I abruptly realized within the space of two seconds what Verge had been up to all this time.

He suspected _me_.

That was why he had looked so surprised yet amused when I had voiced my own suspicions about him. That was why he actually agreed to talk to me in the first place. From the very start, I had been wondering at his willingness to just spill the entire story to me with nothing in return. I barely knew him. And he barely knew _me_, and he had been trying to guess where my allegiance lay.

Where my allegiance lay. What drama!

"Ace?"

He was waiting for an answer. I stifled an absurd giggle. The thought of someone suspecting me of being a traitor was horrifically ridiculous. But I could see Verge was not about to laugh. He had given me the information. That assessing look had kept trying to read my expressions, my answers, my wording throughout the story. I could only assume and hope that he had realized that my intentions were purely innocent. It was up to my reply now to confirm it.

And waiting around to answer certainly wouldn't make things better.

"I'll head home with a better understanding of it all. And even though I may or may not have much influence on anything going on around me, I will do my best not to let anything like what happened two years ago happen again."

Verge's face was serious. "Good answer."

* * *

Author's Note: Kind of a slow chapter. I've got bunches of twists written out for later on. Things are going to pick up pace from the next, and I'm trying to keep it as real and not as melodramatic as possible. Let me know any suggestions you have, any criticisms, whether the pace is too slow (though, like I said, it will pick up pace), and whether characters are in character or not. It's so hard to pick out one's faults by oneself, and I'd appreciate it if you guys spot any, to let me know. Love you loads!


	9. On Tilt

**T****he Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

**Author's Note:**This is for Spot'sGalFrom1899. I think it's her birthday today!

_**Disclaimer:**_ Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

* * *

It was very dark by the time I began making my way home. The lamplights were burning low, and the cobbled streets were empty. As I walked down towards the looming Brooklyn Bridge up ahead, I decided quite firmly that I was not to show any hints whatsoever that might give away the fact that anything was different. That I had learned anything different. _Nothing_ was going to change.

Of course, I did consider the option of just telling Spot everything. Just to let it all out. I heard the whole story from as unbiased a person I could get, and I had come to the conclusion that…

Hmm.

What conclusion _had _I come to?

I was sure of one thing: this entire, horrible, awful situation was no longer as one-sided as I had made it out to be. Situations very rarely are, if ever, completely one-sided, and I was now clear that this certainly wasn't any exception. Duke may have initiated the fight, but Spot did nothing to remedy the situation in a way that might have saved lives that might have been needlessly lost.

Yet at the same time, I couldn't imagine myself reacting in any other way than how Spot reacted. His best friend had betrayed him, so he lashed out in the only way I suppose he knew how: fight back. The scale of villainy tipped towards Duke, and the fault of what happened was definitely not Spot's.

No matter how vile the things he did were to hurt Duke in any way he could, I would have done the same. Or at least, I think I might have.

But what did that matter? He had done some pretty awful things, and it made me uncomfortable to know, but it was all in the past, wasn't it? A true friend would not bring it up and make him relive everything he had done. A true friend would not let it affect their friendship. And a true friend would support him, for, even if he had done some awful things to take revenge, he had not initiated the situation; it had been put upon him. And it was being put upon him now, and the Spot I knew now must be different. A true friend would know that.

And surely I was more than friend. I should be able to do that much for Spot. At least, I must try.

Therefore, when I saw a familiar figure on Brooklyn Bridge, staring out at the dark world before him, I went up to him without hesitating. Had he been waiting for me? As I drew near he gave a small start, as though I had actually surprised him; he had been so engrossed in his thoughts. The rain had stopped, but he must have been caught in it since his hair was glistening from what little light there was. Then those marvelous blue-green eyes smiled faintly into mine, and despite all my resolutions, I am ashamed to say I wondered. Looking at that deceptively boyish, charming face, I would never have guessed him to have been capable of taking revenge so far. I wondered how many had made assumptions about his character with that face, boys and girls alike, and I wondered whether perhaps I was merely one of them.

Oh, bother. Was I going to go over this again? Was my trust so easily influenced?

He didn't speak, so I didn't. I leaned against the rail next to him, and gazed out. The night sky met the black outline of the buildings below, and if you held your breath, you could just hear the city breathing, sleeping as one great beast. It felt alive and even in a rough-and-tumble place like Brooklyn, we were all a part of New York, so we could live, breath, and sleep in unison. That was what I saw, staring out, this beautifully dark place I called home. But what did he see?

"Do you remember," he asked in a quiet voice I never heard him use before, "when you called me a coward to my face?"

I frowned, a little taken aback. I shook my head, "Did I?"

"When the strike first began. I didn't want to help Kelly, and you thought it was wrong of me. You called me a coward, and I pushed you off the docks into the water.'

I heard the smile in his voice, even though I couldn't see it. I grinned, remembering how furious I was. "I remember."

How long ago it all seemed. I was even more ignorant than I was now, and I felt mildly embarrassed to remember all those tiny little events and incidences that made up my first few weeks as a newsie. I was just a prejudiced girl determined to hate the one guy who kept humiliating her, yet he kept saving her neck. I felt a flash of humor. Almost like a story right out from a book! Except I didn't know my ending yet, and Spot wasn't exactly Prince Charming. And I certainly was no princess.

"You came right up from the water, all pink and purple 'cos you were so angry," he was faintly smiling now, "You were livid, and I half expected steam to come rising from you. And you came marching right up to me, yelling every single insulting name you knew, and some I could have sworn never existed."

I groaned. "Oh, shut up. How is this relevant?"

He laughed. "Let me finish?"

"Oh, alright. But don't make fun of me."

He smirked. "When you came splashing out like some roaring tidal wave and stormed up to me with your wet hair all over those amazing eyes, I suddenly just started to think. You were different, Ace, not just because you were having none of me, but because you cared about things that most of us forgot we should care about."

I felt my eyebrows furrow, and I tilted my head, hoping I could see his eyes, but I couldn't now. Just his hair, glistening a little, and his silhouette facing the world beyond, his shirt unbuttoned down the top two as usual despite the cold weather. Then he turned, as though he sensed my gaze, and I wondered whether he was smiling or not. His voice was reflective, but I heard a worn sort of weariness to it, and I knew then that something was bothering him. Or no, _everything_ was bothering him.

And then, I couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like to have such an enormous responsibility to so many people, yet having to deal with his own personal issues with Duke. It was sheer pressure, and the weight of it must be crushing. I felt pity right then, pity for the road his past had forced him into, and even more pity for the things he had done that had set his path in stone. Duke had done terrible things, but Spot also had to live with what he had done. With the entire cursed situation.

But I wasn't about to start patting him on the back and letting him weep on my shoulder (as if he _would_). He wouldn't appreciate it. And what good would that do?

I struggled for words, something uplifting, something morally true that would somehow give him strength or comfort. But how could I, someone who had absolutely no experience in such a situation as he was in right now, be able to speak and give him any form of advice or encouragement? I could feel his struggle, but I didn't ever experience it. What could I possibly say without sounding obsequious?

Then I didn't have to say anything at all, because he touched my face lightly, and then kissed me. His hand found mine, and I leaned into him, shivering as his other hand lifted my hair and traced the back of my neck. It's been a while, I thought to myself. I'd missed this. We'd been so caught up with everything going on that we hadn't had time for each other. After a moment, I stepped back.

"It's late, Spot. Let's head back."

There was silence. Then a sharp, bitter intake of breath that was part scoff, part laugh. "That is so you, Ace," he breathed, laughing slightly, "So maddeningly sensible. Don't you ever want to do something that isn't right? Aren't you ever tempted?"

The question was so ridiculous that I nearly started laughing myself, but it would have sounded rather awfully obnoxious so I didn't. I said, "That's just silly. I'm human. Of course I do things that aren't right. We all do."

He tugged my hand and I stepped closer as he said wryly, "Stickin' around here certainly wasn't right. Look at da mess you're stuck with."

I pretended to think. "Nah. I'm thinking that sticking with _you_ wasn't right. But it's all good, 'cos you know what, you're not half-bad."

He kissed my forehead, barely brushing his lips against my skin. For a moment there was comfortable silence, and then he went, "Did you have a nice chat with Verge?"

There is nothing to say, is there?

"Yes. Yes, I did," I said as calmly as I could. I struggled and strained against the irritation that came springing up out of nowhere. I let go of his hand. Could I not talk, walk, or _do _anything without him not knowing it? Was there to be absolutely no privacy if I were to become a Brooklynite? Or his girl?

"Oh c'mon, don't be angry, Ace," he leaned against the rail again, facing me still. He seemed amused and that old sniggery part of Spot returning, "It's my job to know things."

"I know," I muttered sullenly, because I _did _know, "But I don't like it."

"If it makes you feel better, I don't know what you talked 'bout."

I squinted at him. He wasn't asking me to tell him. That meant he already had come to his own conclusions, and I was pretty sure he had guessed right. He always guessed right. I was under no obligation to tell him, was I? However, did he think I didn't trust him? I was sure he knew we talked about Duke. It was all there; his just bringing it up like that, hinting that he had guessed, the whole talk before…

I said, "I trust you, Spot. You know that right?"

"Do you really?" he asked simply, not tentatively or sadly; just a neutral question thrown out there. My irritation slipped away. This was one of the things I loved best about Spot. He'd be all tough, all smart, but then he'd turn right around and make you think. He'd judge and demand, but then make a statement that would normally sound like an accusation into a mere thought. He valued my opinion and just wanted to _know_.

"I do," I said. It was so dark now and I could just see Spot leaning thoughtfully with his arms and back against the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, his head held high as he looked reflectively towards me. Impulsively, I took his hand again and kissed it. "I trust you. And so do the rest of us."

His face was devoid of any emotion, just contemplative. "Let's hope dey do."

It began raining again while we walked home.

* * *

The next morning was cold, and I was shivering as I stepped out from my bunk. Cat was awake, staring listlessly up at the ceiling as though she was yearning to jump out of bed and go mad-spying all over the city. All the girls were rather quiet; everyone was tired. It was a nasty sort of tired, and no one was going to snap at anyone. It was actually a pleasant tiredness. The past few days had been hectic, but we had all pulled through. I shrugged on my worn oversized coat and bent over to up my hat that had fallen to the floor off the bed sometime while I was sleeping. I put it on and turned around to find Milkshake behind me.

"So, how are you?" she said easily, her green eyes slightly mischievous and lively despite the dark rings under her eyes. None of us had been getting much sleep recently.

I shrugged and tied my hair together haphazardly. "Good, I guess. I hurt everywhere from that silly dance lesson from Medda."

"You came back real late," she remarked nonchalantly, sitting down on her bunk next to mine to put on her shoes.

"Yeah." I sat down to put on my own shoes.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled suggestively. "You and Spot, I mean."

I reddened, rolling my eyes at her insinuations. "Yes, we came back late."

"Oooooh."

"We were just talking, stupid," I stood up quickly, embarrassed as usual whenever Milkshake or any of the girls brought things like this up. I couldn't help smiling a little back though. It was all in good fun, I knew, and it was true, nothing happened. Nothing like thatever happened with me and Spot. And you know what? I was fine. Maybe it wasn't normal, and I knew it puzzled some of the Brooklynites, but Spot and I were just fine with how our relationship was. It was strange and unspoken. I think that despite it all, he understood what I felt about everything he used to do; all those flings, he used to be a player, and it was natural for me to wonder sometimes. So I got the feeling he was being extra careful, every time we kissed, every time we touched, to show that he wasn't like that anymore.

Although after last night…I don't think I'd wonder so much anymore.

Milkshake gave a giggle and grinned. "Talking is good." Then she was off, in her usual Milkshake fashion, bounding out the door to find Pike.

Cat was being all moodily silent, and I would have said something to her, but I was still mad that she had suggested I would betray Spot. So I just stuffed my money into the pockets of my over-sized trousers and headed toward the door. Jackal walked past just then, and stopped. Then, with his huge smile, stepped into the room.

"Good morning ladies!"

An unforgivable act, of course. I moved aside to make way.

All manner of clothing, rags, pillows, blankets, and the occasional shoe went flying through the air and, since they _were _Brooklynites, nearly every missile hit Jackal accurately in the face. It was glorious, really.

"Get outta here!"

Everyone was snickering, everyone perhaps except for Artemis, who had actually been in the process of pulling on her trousers when Jackal had made his grand entrance. By the time she recovered, Jackal had already fled, and I grinned as we heard him yell as he ran down the stairs, "Arty's got chicken legs!"

Artemis' face went pasty white. She looked so embarrassed and for a moment, her cheeks turned red. Then her face took on a lovely shade of livid purple, and we all hooted as she went raging out the door, shrieking Jackal's name and pairing it with every swear word ever constructed in the English vocabulary. There was a yell downstairs from Jackal, and we heard pounding of footsteps downstairs.

There was something comforting about all this. Everyone _knew _these were dangerous times. Duke might start picking us off one by one. Or set fire to the LH or something. It was frightening, knowing that there was an enemy out there who wanted to kill your leader and anyone in his way. Yet everyone was acting like nothing was different. Honestly, as much as I tried to see small giveaways of fear and tenseness in anyone's eyes, I couldn't find any. Pithon was snarkily making nasty comments to Cat, while Sodapop was just whistling her morning away in the washroom. I could have sworn they had no idea what was going on, but I knew they knew. It was comforting to see no change, and I realized that this was, in a way, their manner of coping with danger. No matter how hard I looked for some uncomfortable shift of the eye, or quick frown on someone's face, I couldn't find any sign of fear or tension. Laughing in the face of it, and daring it to stab them in the back.

There was a brief thump and a hoarse yelp from Jackal downstairs. I went out of the room and Pike came bounding out of the other room enthusiastically. He linked arms with me with a cheerful grin, and escorted me down the stairs.

"And how is me little Ace doin'?" he chirped, beaming at me with irresistible optimism.

I chirped back as we came outside, "Lovely, thank you, at least up until I saw your ugly mug."

He grinned, "Thanks darlin', you're a sweetheart."

"Milkshake's looking for-," I started say, but suddenly Spot appeared out of the LH door and Pike went over to him without another word. "…you," I trailed off, rather caught off guard. I blinked as Spot gave the taller boy a slow challenging look and muttered something under his breath that made Pike grin. It sounded something like, "Today, yeah? You ready for losin' some money?"

Of course, I may have heard wrong. I didn't want to make a fool out of myself by asking something idiotic.

Spot turned his back to Pike as I walked up, and properly woke me up with a swift kiss. "Mornin', Ashley," he greeting, his eyes meeting mine with a mischievous glint. He looked alright, somewhat brighter than last night, but still he seemed tired. But the smile on his face was genuine. "You gonna sell papes with me today?"

I rolled my eyes at the unnecessary question. "You're too cruel sometimes, Spot. No."

We never sold together. Mostly because somehow people shied away from a boy and girl team selling papes. I didn't understand why; they thought it immoral maybe and then just walked away. Anyhow, Spot sold much faster than I, and I ended up feeling rather competitive whenever he sold more than me. It was the worst when he then stood there waiting for me to finish, watching me flounder around with a paper in my hand. And I wouldn't ever let him help me, because that would simply be embarrassing and humiliating. But he certainly did love to rub it in.

"You sure?" he drawled, and I scowled at him.

"Maybe when I can finally keep up with you, then, yes. Not today though."

He grinned, "Aw, you're already improvin'. But hey, meet me at Rays for lunch?"

I readjusted my hat and gave him a look, "Yes. Like we always do."

"Just makin' sure."

We started walking over to the distribution center, our fingertips brushing occasionally 'by accident.' I caught Pike glancing over at Spot once more before ducking back into the LH to look for Milkshake. Spot didn't even look his way and I inwardly brushed away my curiosity, deciding it must have been nothing. Although…I had to admit those two, especially Pike, had been looking meaningfully at me for this past week. Something was going on…I was mildly bemused, but not enough to press the matter.

Jackal and Artemis was there at the distribution center. We could see them along with a couple other newsies clumped up all together a little ways off from where they purchased the papers, and I noticed that Jackal was limping slightly, and Artemis looked very satisfied with herself. Spot smirked, and we made our way to line up..

We bought our papers, said our goodbyes, and I went off to sell. I headed down to my usual spot at the market place, passing by Pithon on the way. She waved at me with a nonchalant air, as she scanned the crowd for a good prey. I grinned, knowing I could never be as forward or as brave to sell as the rest of the Brooklynites did. They went up to people. I could never go up to a stranger and blare news at them. I had to sell the 'Manhattan' way, as Spot called it, which was just stand there and holler so they came to you. He seemed to look down upon it, but hey, it was the only way I could make money.

I scanned through the pages of the paper. Headlines were dull, and I needed to find something I could use. Eh, boring. Death of a Mrs. Lambert. Stolen horse. Rising prices. Fire in Harlem. Stories of everyday lives, raises in prices, and deaths, and none of them stood out for me. I sighed and turned to page six. Then took in a sharp breath as I read what was written in the column at the bottom left corner of the page. The words barely processed in my mind as I took it all in, feeling a sudden chill seem to creep up from the very ground to wash over me.

_Two boys. Found murdered. Queens. South of Freeport. 3 am. Multiple stab wounds._

I read on, feeling as though something was crushing down on me slowly, whilst the bustling crowd passed by me on the streets. I sat down on the step of an apartment, feeling cold. I didn't hear a thing, as my eyes read a single sentence over and over again. _The older boy found was about six feet with dark hair, slim, and the other a young boy around 5'5", skinny and blonde._

…_Six feet with dark hair. Slim. Older._

Oh, surely, surely it could not possibly be-

"Get away my door!"

I leapt to my feet in sheer surprise, and saw a thoroughly nasty-looking lady emerging from the apartment door. I got out of her way and started walking down the busy street, thinking furiously as I mulled over the small piece of news.

There are plenty of tall, slim, boys with dark hair who were six feet tall, I told myself fiercely. Just because one of them was found murdered in Queens doesn't mean it was Philip. And just because Duke is a knife fighter doesn't mean that it was his knife that caused those wounds.

I began selling my newspapers with only half a mind attentive to my job.

If Philip was dead...

If it was Duke who killed him, I don't think I could be as ethical as Spot was trying to be right now. I would want Duke dead. I squelched down the irrational fear that kept rising, and tried to keep calm. I was overreacting. Multiple stab wounds? Duke was good with a knife. He wouldn't need to stab them so many times.

Right?

All of a sudden, I felt this surge of panic. I wanted to talk to Philip again. I wanted to know whether he was helping Duke or not. Verge had said he might be. I could find out.

Verge must be wrong. Philip had helped me with Cat. He saved me from Fire. It wouldn't make sense of for him to join Duke against me and Spot. Besides, he was new to these boroughs. He must not even know who Duke was! Maybe I could warn him.

Unless…he was already dead.

I should tell Spot. Tell him and find out.

What with the state of mind I was in, the papes took much longer than usual for me to sell. I managed to mangle up my words a number of times, and end up making the headlines much worse than they already were. Therefore, it was well past noon when I finally was holding onto my last paper, and I was thoroughly tired. The words in the newspaper still in my thoughts, I wondered whether I ought to talk to Spot about it first. Tell him about Philip. Oh, but how could I? He would take it all wrong, wouldn't he? I felt a stab of guilt, then I shook it off impatiently.

I would tell him. I wanted Philip to talk to Spot, whatever nameless feud he seemed to be having with him. I wanted Spot to know about Philip, never mind what sort of assumptions he came up with.

"Two boys found stabbed!" I hollered, wincing inwardly. All these lies we spilled, and yet they were a lot harder to say when they actually meant something. I felt like I was a traitor. "Ruthless serial killer in Queens!" I bellowed, turning so my voice would carry across the crowd…

A strong hand gripped my elbow, making me jump in surprise. Then, in the middle of the crowded marketplace, I heard a low voice at my ear mutter, "Calling one of your own a 'serial killer', eh? Typical Brooklynite, dere ain't nothing too low for you bastards."

I turned around sharply, and faced a tall stranger in front of me. He was dressed in the dirty clothes of a factory worker, and his face was smudged with soot. I did not recognize him, and was pretty sure I had never seen him before. He had an ordinarily face, and would have been pleasant looking if it wasn't for an overly large nose and a very murderous glare in his eyes. I slowly folded my newspaper, and glanced around swiftly. We were on the sidewalk, and there were people passing by us. None of them seemed to notice us.

"Who are you?"

His lip curled. "Does it even matter?"

There was a long pause, just me and this complete stranger standing on the sidewalk with strange, unspoken words between us that he was aware of and I wasn't. "Um," I thought furiously, and ended up asking, "Are you…from Queens?"

Then I started. "And what did you mean by 'calling one of your own'?"

This time, a girl's voice came from behind me. "One of you did it." I whirled around, alarmed, and saw a young woman in similar dirty clothes, her blunt green eyes cutting into me. "Those two boys had nothing to do with your war. Nothing! And you lot slaughtered them." She looked even tougher than her friend, with short brown hair framing a square face and brushing across her broad shoulders.

I felt a wave of confusion, along with the growing sense of being trapped. Who were these two? They did not seem to be newsies, but there was no way of truly telling. Queen newsies? "We had nothing to do with the boys who were killed last night," I said carefully, sensing that this unexpected situation was alarmingly volatile. I took a careful step back towards the street, gauging whether I should run or keep my stance. "And who are you?" I repeated.

They both sneered. "Liar. _Brooklynite_," said the girl, the word practically spitting from her mouth as though it was a new swear word. "Queens never did anything to you, did dey? Dose boys," she stopped, just for a second, and I stared. She choked out, "Dose boys were not even involved."

Why was it that I seemed to always find myself in these situations? "We had _nothing _to do with it. We never made a move to harm anyone."

"You're all da same," the boy growled, "It doesn't matter to you who you hurt, as long as you hurt someone."

I was too confused to make head or tail out of this. But one thing I did know was that these two were from Queens. So I was very sure of myself when I said sharply, "Queens never did anything to us? It's all _you_, Queens! And you still haven't answered my question. Who are you?"

They glanced at each other at that. Then the boy took my arm firmly, and snapped, "Get movin'."

I really shouldn't have been surprised at those words, considering the usual predicaments I was always in. But despite it all, despite all my glorious experiences at getting into trouble, I felt a familiar nasty jolt inside. "What?"

There was a sharp stab at my back. Goosebumps broke out all over my skin, and every single nerve in my body came alive as I realized that there was a knife touching me. I stopped breathing and the girl snarled, "I said, _get movin'._"

Everything came spiraling quickly into a cold pinpoint of fear right then and there. But there was nothing I could do. They would stab me here, even in public, and they were sure to stab me anywhere else. Fear and anger threatened to send me plummeting straight into panic, but I somehow managed to shakily say, "You're making a mistake. We had _nothing _to do with last night!"

There was a pause, and then another sharp sting of steel. The girl's voice was cold. "Last warning, Brooklynite. Walk."

This was crazy. It was broad daylight, and yet the familiar marketplace had turned into a nightmare.

"Spot," I said helplessly, "He'll know." _Spot, where are you? _

"_Move_."

We went out of the marketplace, and soon the streets were less crowded. There were still people walking here and there, and yet no one seemed to see the knife or the fact that I was being taken by force. Why was it they never do? Were people really that blind?

The next thing I knew, I was pushed into a narrow dead-end alleyway, and for the first time, I found myself facing the awful realization that I was going to _die_. Ace, _think_.

Everything was happening too fast. I turned to face them, the girl with the knife, and the boy whose eyes were narrowing to a single-minded purpose. I wish I could say I glared back at the both of them proudly, with confidence that I could fight them back. But the fact was, I never had met any two strangers with such an unfounded rage inside both of them, and they were mindlessly furious.

So I was scared. I was so afraid I barely knew what to think, what to say. One minute I was selling newspapers, and the next I was going to be killed by two complete strangers. I could see it in their faces; they had come with the purpose of just hurting anyone they thought were even indirectly involved. Were they going to kill one more after me, to make the deaths even?

I knew it was hopeless. But before the girl advanced, I clung desperately to a sudden pathetic idea. "Did Duke send you?"

The girl actually took a step back, startled. The boy's eyes widened. "What?"

My mouth was dry; I could barely speak. "Was it Duke who sent you two?" I blathered, "Or was it…Philip?"

The girl suddenly sprang forward and struck me, hard across the face. "Don't you _dare _act like you know anything! Don't you dare act like you know anything at all!"

Her response did not make sense to me, although I may have been disoriented from that blow sent me stumbling backwards into a wall. My hand automatically went up to my face, which began stinging and burning like mad. I gritted my teeth and felt that nasty fear rapidly begin to be replaced by anger, sparked by that unnecessary hit. Without thinking, I snapped, "I do know Philip Danford; he's a good friend."

Her eyes were blazing, her chest rising up and down from heavy breathing. She narrowed her gaze, and she seemed ready to spring at me again. "A good friend of yours? Is dat right, Your Highness? How good a 'friend' are you?"

I was taken aback at the jealous tone in her voice. "Not very," I shot back, "But we are still friends." I plucked up my courage and said firmly, "We are friends enough that he'd not like me killed." _Hah, I hope._

The boy stepped up and towered over me. "What's your name, tell us who you are."

"Ace," I said shortly, suddenly sick of all this rude manhandling and questions. If they were going to kill me, they were doing an awful job of it. "Look, if you think you're taking revenge by killing me, you're wrong in every sense of the word. We had nothing to do with last night!"

It seemed useless. The boy swore, but the girl seemed to also be doing some rapid thinking. "You're Ace? Conlon's girl?"

"Are you even listening?"

"Dis is perfect," the girl said, her green eyes coldly lighting up. "Dis is exactly what we need."

I paused, and realized belatedly my mistake. She looked too gleeful, and the boy much too relieved. She continued, "We get directly to Conlon through you. What luck, eh?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut me off with a warning flick of her knife. "Philip told us 'bout you," she said coldly, and the boy smirked. "Spot and him ain't exactly on good terms, did you know?"

The boy looked at her and they exchanged glances. Then the boy said drawlingly, "Well, at least, _Philip _ain't on good terms with Spot."

Then they laughed, a little too hard, and I felt my anger rise once more. However, somewhere I had the sense to make note of one thing. It wasn't Philip who had been stabbed. It was some other boy. But who? My head seemed to spin. "I got the vibe," I answered stiffly, but said no more. I saw the boy shift, and I caught a glimpse of the street behind. Could I possibly get past these two and the knife, and make a run for it? As if sensing my thoughts, the boy stepped back again, blocking my path once more.

"You knew den?" the girl probed, "Knew, but still kept up your little 'friendship' with Philip?"

I clenched my fists. I imagined myself as Spot, as Philip, as every newsie I admired. Suddenly, I _was _Spot, standing there in front of two people he couldn't care less about. I couldn't explain it. But I heard myself say with cool, careless authority, "This is none of your business, is it? I owe neither of you an explanation. Now, get out of my way."

For a second, this seemed to catch them off guard. "Get off your high horse, missy," she sneered, every inch of her oozing contempt, "And don't think we're gonna spare you for darling Philip's sake. Mr. Danford isn't as perfect a gentleman as you may think he is, and believe me," her lips twisted into a cruel smile, "I would know."

Spot/Philip coolness slipped away and I was back to pathetic, angry Ace. I was trembling with rage. Never had I ever wanted to hurt anyone more than I did now. This strange girl, with her confusing words and her unexplainable hatred, was pushing my temper and she knew it. If I made a move, she wouldn't hesitate to use that knife. And I could tell she knew how to use it. The boy was watching me coolly, without a hint of sympathy, and I knew he would do nothing to stop her.

"You truly think we killed your boys last night?" I spat out vehemently, "You think we would do something so vile? It was probably Duke, trying to get you newsies riled up against us again. Tricking you lot."

Her eyes flickered with surprise and they exchanged glances again. Then the boy looked at me, his gaze haughty and almost condescending. "You really don't know _anything_, do ya?"

Evil Girl laughed shortly. "Dis is too perfect, Harry. Didn't know Conlon's girl was so stupid. And here she is, having a fling with da enemy and oh, what would Conlon do when he hears dis?"

I went cold. "That's not true, and you know it. It's nothing like that."

"Nothing like what?" The boy, Harry, jabbed at me, laughing. I winced and stepped back.

"Spot wouldn't believe a single word you say, even if Philip is your leader."

The girl leaned in, her eyes coolly appraising. "Leader? We ain't newsies."

I drew in a shuddering breath, and tried to stop shaking. "Then how do you know Philip?"

She suddenly struck me again, viciously, and this time I went sprawling back, my mouth streaming blood. She glared down at me as I wiped my split lip. "Don't talk about him, you Brooklyn slut. Just stop talking, and try worrying more 'bout whether we're gonna let you live or not. Believe me, I-"

I pulled back my foot and kicked her as hard as I could in the knee, and to my satisfaction, there was a sickening crack as the knee gave. She gave a cry of pain before she hit the ground. The boy Harry sprang at me, but I somehow managed to land a couple of wild punches on her face before he sent me flying against the wall.

"Why, you _word-I-didn't-even-know-existed_," the girl swore, and she lunged for the knife that she had dropped when she fell. But I had seen it coming. I grabbed it before getting back up to my feet.

Now, I felt _really _pathetic. What would Spot do in such a situation?

Fight them and come out gloriously victorious, not a hair out of place.

This was not going to end happily.

They were still blocking my way out. The girl, I noticed with slightly cruel satisfaction, seemed unable to get up. Harry suddenly seemed to take charge, as if he realized that the talking was over, and now it had come down to the dirty work. I knew that too. I had the best chance of inflicting the most harm, with this knife in my hands, but I had no idea how to use it.

"Come on," the girl taunted, none of the previous pain I had inflicted on her showing on her face. She couldn't stand, but she could still hurt me, "Let's see what little Ace's got. Did Conlon teach you some of his moves?" she smirked, "You gonna kill da both of us with a sling instead?"

"You know," said Harry in his harsh voice, "Jerry and Pipes didn't stand a chance."

"I suppose," I said shakily, "It wouldn't do me any good if I told you again that _we had nothing to do with it_?"

The boy's eyes were level with me, and I saw no sympathy, no understanding at all. "Jerry had a gimp leg. Sort of like what you just did to Yona."

Yona, I mentally noted. Yona and Harry. She glared at me from where she was on the ground, "And Pipes was barely thirteen. You Brooklynites don't have any limits at all."

A child, killed, and a lame boy. The situation was terrible, and it was even worse that I was going to have to pay for it.

I could feel my hand starting to shake. The sweat on my forehead was sliding its oily way down into my eyes. I could see that as the girl kept talking, the boy was moving closer to disarm me. A kick? A punch? How would he do it? How was I supposed to deflect any of that? What _would _Spot do?_ If there ever is a time to do something right,_ _Ace, now is the time to do it. _There wouldn't be any more chances after this.

Then Harry moved, and my mind seemed to shut down. He lunged at me and as I jumped back, he caught my sleeve and grabbed my arm. His other hand came out of nowhere and I fell as it hit me hard. Dazed, I realized I was still holding onto the knife. I had enough presence of mind to try to get up, but something hard hit my side and all the air whooshed out of me. The world spun as I gasped in pain, and I resisted the urge to curl up into a ball. I started hollering for help but there wasn't enough air in me. When his foot came again, I yanked back and it grazed the side of my head painfully, but it missed my face.

"Get the knife, idiot," Yona was yelling. "Stop foolin' around."

He leaned down to grab the knife in my hand, and I swung it in blind desperation. To my immense shock, the blade caught him deeply up across his side and the girl screamed.

The scream seemed to echo. Harry swore and let go of me, stumbling back. For a moment, I was too terrified to move. Blood spread across his shirt and I numbly let go of the knife, staring. He tried to grab me again, but he was too unstable and stumbled to one knee. It snapped me out of my shock. The girl yelled something incomprehensively foul as I avoided her swipes at me, turned, and sprang down the alleyway.

I kept expecting a hand to yank me off my feet or to feel that knife across my back. When I looked over my shoulder once, I saw that they weren't even chasing after me. The girl was talking to the boy, speaking rapidly and looking half hysterical. She looked up for a second and her eyes met mine. I felt my stomach tighten with that same fear. Even though they were far away, I could _feel _her hatred. The boy was on his back, and I felt like I was going to be sick. They wanted me dead, even more now that they were both injured. The boy…he was bleeding badly, and it looked as though he was unable to get up. There was so much blood.

I swallowed hard. I wasn't about to hang around and wait for them to come after me. I sucked in a quick breath and kept running.


	10. And We All Fall Down

**The Royal Flush**

_By: Racetrack's Goil_

_**Disclaimer:**_ Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

* * *

I ran until the breath in my lungs couldn't escape anymore, and then kept running. It was nothing like those nightmares you have where you are running through mud. I was running faster than I ever had, and my body seemed to have trouble catching up with my legs. I kept glancing back; I couldn't help expecting that the boy would be right there with a nasty sneer, "Hello, I decided to chase you down and kill you after all!" and then stab me in the heart.

I headed straight towards LH. It was newsie haven, the safest place I could think of. The streets of Brooklyn had always been dangerous, and after what had just happened, I didn't feel like staying outside if I could help it. Everything felt too loud, too jarring. Every rattle made me jump, every shout made me think it was those two after me, and I didn't dare stop for breath in case they had decided to come after me to finish the job.

I was in LH in no time. I went inside, gasping for breath, and took the steps two at a time. The building was still empty, and I realized that they must be at lunch. I was not hungry. I stood swaying dangerously near the bunk, and to my vague surprise, felt sick. There was mud on my pants and my face felt bruised and swollen. I grabbed the side of the bunk bed, and then stumbled to the washroom. My stomach heaved, and I squinted, feeling like the world was tilting to one side and I was on the other. Once I could catch my breath, I staggered back to the room and promptly sat down on my bunk, trying to calm down.

I'm afraid I did something really embarrassing then. I felt so awful, miserable, and so sick of being sick that I started crying. Maybe for a couple of minutes, before I realized what I was doing and stopped myself with a mental slap.

_You're pathetic, Ace_, I told myself fiercely between hiccups. Throwing up and then getting hysterical like that. _Be thankful you're alive. _

I was, really. I knew all too well how insanely lucky I had been to come out of that situation intact. I finally started breathing normally and then, I felt eerily calm. The rush of hysteria was gone. Maybe I was going into some sort of first-real-brush-with-death shock. I don't know. Whatever it was, I sat there alone in the Lodging House, suddenly feeling very serene and calm. It was as though someone had turned off a switch. My body was still trembling after that rush of adrenaline, but my mind seemed ready to just placidly sit back and review the facts.

Fact #1: Two boys at Queens were dead.

Fact #2: That boy and girl were not newsies.

Fact #3: Duke thought we were murderers.

Fact #4: …I might have killed that boy.

The door downstairs slammed open.

Peace and serenity gone, I jumped up to my feet and promptly fell. Swearing, I picked myself up and ran across the room, hearing footsteps coming up the stairs. I dashed around the corner, hoping that it was Spot, and stared down stupidly at Jackal and Artemis, who were both on their way up.

"Where the devil have you been?" said Artemis in her usual, amiable manner.

Words flooded my brain as I immediately tried to answer her. Knife, I thought. Death. Stabbing. Queens. Spot. But too much had happened, and I barely knew what to think, let alone say. The only thing I could spit out was, "Where's Spot?"

Jackal's arm was around Artemis, I noticed vaguely. He moved away from her and kept walking up the stairs, his eyes narrowed slightly, "Don't know. You alright, Ace?"

I shook my head and contradicted myself by saying, "I'm fine." I swallowed hard, and gave myself a good mental shake. "Someone tried to kill me," I stated and felt strangely guilty as I watched Jackal and Artemis' expressions change from disbelief to shock to anger. I didn't want this, I thought suddenly, belatedly. I didn't want to add anymore to this insanity.

"Listen," I said wearily, "I need to see Spot. Isn't he at the docks?"

Artemis nodded quickly, her eyes wide, "Are ya sure? Who tried to kill ya?"

"Am I sure? What kind of a question is that?" I bellowed madly.

"Okay okay," Jackal said, surprisingly helpful, "Let's get you to da docks first. He's probably dere."

The streets felt safer with Jackal and Artemis loping next to me, yet despite Jackal's protectiveness and Artemis' growingly menacing looks, I couldn't keep my eyes from looking at everyone we passed. I clenched my jaw and kept on going, knowing that I was worrying Jackal and Artemis with my silence, and hating myself for being so unsure about everything.

Artemis didn't ask any more questions, but was unusually silent. Jackal was also quiet, but he kept looking at me with a confused expression. I was grateful, but I found myself wondering if I should have just kept my mouth shut. At this point, things were wheeling from one extreme to another, and I didn't want to make a mistake and tip the balance any further.

Of course, while I was walking with them, I remembered what Verge had told me last night about how Jackal was part of Duke's gang. I shot him a quick glance, trying to see him with this new information shedding some light. I couldn't. All I saw was dependable, friendly Jackal, with his quirky personality and his rakish grin. I couldn't imagine him standing against Spot with Duke. Sure, he was one of the more outspoken ones about his opinions about Spot, but he never acted upon them and it was obviously all in good fun. Would he ever betray us? Would anyone else? I didn't think so. But somehow, I wasn't so sure anymore.

We reached the docks and I immediately looked for Spot in his usual pile of crates…and all I saw was empty sky. He wasn't there. In fact, there was no one there. And at this point, I wasn't even surprised.

I breathed out impatiently and swore under my breath. Artemis said sharply, "I'll look for him. You two go to Rays."

I nodded automatically and changed my direction as Artemis ran off. I walked quickly in the direction to Rays and Jackal matched my pace. He didn't talk, which I was grateful for. I know if it were me in his shoes, I would be bursting with questions. I was already bursting with questions anyway.

What if that boy, Harry, died?

And this time, the fault actually _would _be ours. It was my actions, my blow, that caused Harry to die. To Duke and the rest, we would be responsible for a third murder. Oh, of course we weren't, but it would be construed to be so. And no matter what the truth was, I had killed that boy. Or gravely wounded him. All that blood…

I hadn't meant to. Not that it would matter, at all, of course. Motives weren't worth beans anymore. I was wrong, absolutely wrong, and I had made things worse…

When I reached Rays, I nearly died of relief when I saw that the lights were on. I could see the Brooklynites inside, which was pretty unusual, since we barely stayed there in the evening. I was just happy I found them there. Jackal opened the door for me, gentlemanly as usual, and I burst inside. With a quick sweep, I saw that most of the Brooklynites were indeed here and that they were all quietly sitting at the tables. But where-

"_Ace_," I heard a blessedly familiar voice say, and Spot was standing right in front of me. He glanced at Jackal, and said sharply, "Where was she?"

Jackal said, "In the Lodging House."

"Spot," Again, that brain freeze. Words clammed up and I could feel my throat closing up with the enormity of what had happened. Everyone was staring at me, and then Spot took my arm and firmly took me outside without a single word. The door closed softly behind us, and I thought to myself how curious it was that everyone was still there, quietly sitting at the tables. Then I sort of flung myself at Spot, and his arms automatically went around me.

"Ace…what happened?"

I clung to him for a second, like an absolute sap, and then took a step back to take a deep breath. Then I explained everything. How I was nearly killed. How Queens thought we were responsible. How I might have killed someone. How I looked for him everywhere, and I was all alone at LH, why wasn't he there instead of Jackal and Artemis, he wasn't at Ray's, I nearly died torturing myself…and _why was he looking at me like that._

"What?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he wasn't even looking at me in any way now; he was hooking his thumbs across his suspenders and staring at something I couldn't see. I bit my lip.

"Like," I squinted at him, "Like I'm…like you don't believe me. What's going on?"

Spot frowned. "I believe you, Ace. I see all the bruises on your face. Listen, Ace…things aren't good."

Was this his idea of humor? "Of course they're not," I glanced behind and saw everyone through the windows, watching the two of us intently. I turned back to Spot. "Why are all of you still at Ray's?"

He raised his eyebrows, his expression slightly ironic. I glared at him, trying hard to stay calm. Why wasn't he all worried? Why wasn't he angry about the said bruises? Why wasn't he being comforting?

He let go his suspenders and smoothly made an elegant gesture. "Walk with me, Ace?"

I silently followed him down the street, away from Ray's and all the newsies staring at me from inside. We turned the street corner and kept going for a few more feet before he stopped.

"Ace," he straightened up and looked at me in the eye. I felt something uneasy settle down somewhere inside of me as I saw his expression. He looked _torn_, like there was something horrible he was about to do and he wanted to get as far away from it as he could. I went very still. "We need to talk. Right now. And I need you to swear to tell me da absolute truth, cos otherwise, I…Ace, I don't know what's gonna happen."

I couldn't do anything but nod. Nod miserably, and wait for things to get worse, because apparently that's the only direction things can go during situations like this. The best you can do is brace yourself and take it.

"Good." Spot looked away again, for a brief moment, and when he faced me once more, his expression wore that cold professionalism that I hated to see directed at me. "About an hour ago, a girl came into Roy's. I recognized her as one of Duke's lackeys."

"Yona." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Spot calmly said. If a bomb fell right now, he wouldn't flinch. He was that composed, that carefully prepared, and I was hating it. "Yona. She was hysterical. She told us about what happened. How her brother Harry was dead. How da boys' deaths in Queens was also our fault."

_Dead_.

"So I did kill him. I killed her brother." I squeezed my eyes shut. "I had hoped I only hurt him."

Spot shook his head. "No. According to Yona, Harry is dead. Died shortly after you ran off."

I didn't know how to ask it. "Spot…"

He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "It wasn't your fault, Ace. They'd have killed you."

I raised my head and gave him a narrowed look. "No, Spot. I was going to ask if she's right. About those boys."

We just stood there, looking at each other. Spot was the first one to look away, and he had the decency to drop that calculating, calm mask for a brief moment. He looked genuinely sorry. But only for a second. He shrugged. "Nope. Brooklyn had nothin' to do with those two kids. Unless," he straightened his collar and then he said pointedly, "Someone ain't tellin' me somethin'."

"What's that even supposed to mean?" I shrieked unabashedly. "I swear, are you actually mad at me for killing-" I couldn't speak anymore. I knew in my head that I had no other choice, I had to do what I did. But the scene kept replaying over and over again, and I couldn't make sense out of the horror and guilt.

"God, Ace,_ no_," Spot grabbed my arm and more or less dragged me further down the street before flinging me into an alley. I spluttered, indignant and furious. I was about ready to either break down in tears or go into a mad fit. Why was he acting like this?

"I'm not talkin' 'bout dose boys," he growled. "Dammit, I'm not even talkin' 'bout Duke. I'm talkin' about your 'intimate' friend _Philip Danford_."

My mouth dropped. "How do you…" I stopped. His grip on my arm tightened at my response, and I winced. He let me go immediately, like I had burned him.

"Who is Philip Danford?" His voice was like stone.

I shut my eyes tightly and breathed for a moment. So that was what this was all about.

"Yona?" I ventured to ask.

He didn't deign to answer. I crossed my arms and wondered if I dared to ask what Yona had told him. Refute whatever lie she had told him, for it was obvious that Yona had been telling lies. I briefly wondered then, how the rest of her story was true. I swallowed hard and decided instead to just tell him the truth.

"Philip Danford," I said carefully, "Is the leader of Queens. He's been my friend almost since I joined Brooklyn. Spot, I know I should have told you…I was just…afraid," I finished lamely, and wished promptly that I could start over. Not just my explanation. The whole day. This whole situation. Spot's face was too impassive, too collected for him to not be hurt. "Spot, I don't know what Yona told you, but it is not true. You have got to believe-"

He cut in, his voice dangerously level, "Smart of you to be afraid. You do know that Duke is hiding in Queens, right? And that Danford is helping him?"

I shook my head. "You don't know that. There is no way he would."

Spot slammed his hand on the wall right next to my head and I jumped. He snarled, "Why can't you _see _dis? How long is it goin' to take you to see how Duke works?"

"Spot," I tried to speak, but I had never seen him this violently angry before.

"Why didn't you tell me 'bout dis Danford guy?"

There it was. The ultimate question. "Because of numerous reasons, Spot Conlon," I rubbed my forehead wearily. "The first reason was legitimate, but by the time I changed my mind, it was too late. Because…I expected you to react like this."

"That," he growled, "has got to be the worst lie I've ever heard you say, Ace."

I gritted my teeth and pushed him hard enough to make him give me some space. "Listen, Spot, I had enough of being trapped and interrogated in an alley today. Are you even going to listen to what I have to say, or are you just gonna believe whatever Yona told you? Don't you even trust me, just a little?"

Almost as quickly as he had lost it, he regained his temper. It was just like old Spot and me, arguing with me all volatile and him calmly collected. "Trust?" he enunciated the word like he was stamping it into the air, "You're da one talkin' 'bout trust here?"

I swallowed hard and looked down. "It wasn't like that."

"Really."

"I kept him a secret because everytime I mentioned you to him, he looked all funny. I thought there was something going on between you two, but when I told you about him once, you said you didn't know him."

Spot sneered. "Yeah, sweetheart. Because I didn't. I guess I shoulda figured out what was going on then, huh?"

I doggedly went on. "Well, I thought you were hiding stuff. So I wanted to find out on my own. By the time I figured there actually wasn't much going on, I didn't want to mention him to you or anyone else, because-"

"Because by then, you was all snug with him in Queens every night."

I stared at him. "Is that what you think?"

He didn't even answer. He just stepped away. If it wasn't for the way his knuckles were growing white around his cane, I couldn't have told that he was angry. He looked almost lazy.

"You are basing everything on what Yona said?" I tried to control my temper, which was rising as quickly as Spot's had disappeared. I struggled to make sense, to speak clearly, but my voice was starting to shake. "Do you know how much _I've _trusted you despite what every single person around me said? Tables turn, and you don't even give me that much?"

His eyes flashed. "Don't even try that, Ace. You were da one going on about 'propriety.'Don't even tell me dat you never made a trip to Queens to go see Danford."

"Never!" Then I remembered.

He saw my face. "Yeah?"

"No, Spot," I said exasperatedly. "There was one time. I went to find him and he helped me find a doctor for Cat. That was the one time I actually went out to find him."

"So dats where you snuck off to dat night. Cat and I was wonderin'," he raised one eyebrow, "At least, part of yoah story was true. Wonder how much else?"

I opened my mouth to snap at him, that Cat owed Philip her life, and how dare she discuss my life with Spot. But I shut up. This was insane. Why were we even arguing, at a time like this, when we couldn't spare any more dissension in Brooklyn? "You have to believe me, Spot. And Philip isn't working with Duke."

"You barely know da guy," his voice grew slightly louder, "Don't you get it, none of us do! No one knows who he is, and da coincidences are linin' up way too easily right now for Duke and Danford to not be helpin' each other out."

"That can't be true. He saved Cat's life."

"Den why would Yona, one of Duke's lackeys, know about you and Danford so intimately?"

"I don't know," I rubbed my forehead wearily. "I don't know. Spies?"

He gave a soft laugh, so bitter I shuddered. "You must really like dis guy, Ace. Maybe it's high time you went to Queens to pay him another visit."

With that, he straightened his hat and walked out of the alley without looking at me once. As if I wasn't anything anything to him anymore. I wasn't even worth a second look. I stared at the space in front of me, feeling much worse, if possible, than I had felt this morning. Something in my throat stuck like plaster. I slid down the wall of the alley, too numb to even cry.


End file.
